Plain Jane In Thirteen Chapters
by Larry1710
Summary: Jane said she hated fanfiction. Fanfiction reacted badly. Boromir said he loved Jane. Jane reacted badly. Does anyone love fanfiction?
1. Prologue

**N.B.- No profit is being made, this is the introduction chapter so it isn't Middle Earth yet and I in no way hold Jane's views on fan fiction! I am also very fickle when it comes to finishing my fan fiction stories and so I shall endeavor to finish this one! Reviews are always good, I like constructive criticism.**

**Plain Jane**

_London, The U.K, present time_

Jane was feeling listless and restless and blamed this for the reason why she started reading fan fiction. The real reason, of course, was that she had run out of romance "novels". It was like an addiction really. She could spend hours and hours reading badly written stories where punctuation, grammar and plot were of no importance but innuendo and unrealistic love scenes were adored. As someone who had studied English literature at University she felt ashamed of her dirty habit, her sick need for a happily ever after story. This was clearly not real life and sugary simpering and two-dimensional men who could wield a sword and recite a poem (but not at the same time) did not exist and if they did, were probably psychopaths.

And still, she read.

Occasionally she weaned herself off by re-reading the classics and losing herself in the Brontes' world, where romance was a bit more brutal and less saccharine and the heroines were more complicated, interesting and less pathetic. The literary illusions made her think, the social commentary broadened her horizons, the witty dialogue made her laugh and she felt happy. It never lasted long, though. However much she wanted to stay away, the withdrawal symptoms became too much to bear. First she tried methadone – romantic films, or even Disney films about fairy tale princesses finding "true love" and she felt her IQ slowly dwindling.

And then one day, she stopped reading it. Maybe it was because her internet was cut off, or she was too busy with work, with life, had a real love life to lose herself in. Or maybe it was because she had grown up just a little bit, having realised that sensibility, the over theatricality of LOVE, was ridiculous, was just a facade and she opted for sense.

It was in her past now, she decided, where it shall stay forever. However, sometimes pasts have an irritating way of catching up with you.

It was a cold brisk April day and Jane was splashing through puddles on the way to her office on the high street, aware she was late but not too bothered. Her boss was too busy to notice that she was half an hour late, this week he and the other partners were in such a panic when pornography had been found on the office computers, and some of it contained bestiality, which had been leaked to the tabloids. Jane's boss, a thin, reedy man with a sickly look, called Clive, had spent the whole week doing various PR things and completely ignored Jane, which suited her just fine as she spent most of her time in the office learning French on her computer. Being a recent graduate was rubbish, as decent jobs were hard to come by and so Jane was working as a PA, which surprisingly, was not very taxing.

When she arrived at the office, the sky was cloudy and she was thinking that this would be an ordinary day full of a whole lot of nothing. She switched her computer on, responded to a few emails, made Clive a coffee, answered the phone, ordered more toner, felt terrifically bored and decided to read some fan fiction. She hadn't read any in months now but she had nothing better to do and no one was about, so why not? Ten minutes later, she was completely absorbed in a story about a stupid girl who had lost herself in Middle Earth and was annoying Boromir with her selfish 

and 21st century ways (typically, she thought, he would fall in love with her in the next chapter, which she found oddly satisfying), when Clive cleared his throat behind her.

She jumped and swivelled round. "Mon Dieu, Clive! What are you doing, creeping up on me, like that?" she cried. Clive, whose complexion was pale and watery, like a fish, stared at her for a second.

"I do apologise, Jane," he breathed. Jane shuddered, forgetting how eerie his voice was. "You may have noticed that our company is in a lot of trouble, what with the scandal and everything..."He grimaced as if remembering the whole horrible ordeal again. "At any rate, we thoroughly checked all the computers and those kinds of sites can never be accessed again."

"Good!" said Jane, "That kind of thing is really rather disgusting. And the sooner they find out who downloaded it all, the better."

"Yes..." said Clive, as if distracted. Jane peered up at him, confused. Why was he not going back to his office, she wondered. "It's just, our reputation is very important to us."

"Yes, I know," said Jane.

"And we checked all the computers, thoroughly," he continued.

"Yes, you said."

"And you spend, on average, thirty hours a week on a rather odd site called something like, fabfiction? I'm not sure, but it's not on, Jane."

Jane started, like a tequila sunrise, to turn colour and felt like she was emitting heat like a radiator.

"I come here to confront you about it and find you on the site again! I find myself questioning if you ever do any real work for this company at all?"

Jane felt this was a somewhat rhetorical question, as there never was very much work for her to do at all. Still, it was very bad for her that her employer had discovered this fact.

"And what's not bothering so much is that you are clearing wasting company time by being idle, wasting our resources, our time, our money...no it's NOT that," he insisted, fervently and angrily.

"If the tabloids find out that our employees not only use our working time to download sexual images of goats, but to read poorly punctuated stories about dragons and magic, then I fear we will have no clients ever again!"

Jane was horrified and shocked and utterly, utterly embarrassed, humiliated even.

"This will never happen again, you hear? Since this is your first warning, I shall let you get away with it, because I am such a nice person." Clive told her. Clive was not a nice person, though and Jane suspected if she didn't play this well, she may just be the scapegoat for all the company's problems. She nodded mutely, feeling wretched. Satisfied, he turned round and started walking towards his office. "They're not even good stories," he muttered to himself, "I don't understand it."

"They ARE good!" defended Jane, before she could stop herself. Clive turned around, his watery eyes angry and strode towards her desk where he leant into her, breathing all over her horrified and disgusted face.

"You are fired Jane Thomas! "

Two hours later, Jane sat at a bus shelter, in the rain and wind, her hair being whipped about her face like angry rat's tails and holding a soggy cardboard box with a stapler, a half-dead cactus and a few bits of paper in it. It was cold, it was wet and Jane was twenty-two years old and unemployed and it was all fan fiction's fault. And Clive's fault and the stupid, sick person who had downloaded pornography onto his computer at work and got her blamed for it.

She sniffed. Her lower lip wobbled. She drew her head up high and tried to ignore the looks of pity from the other people standing at the bus shelter, noting that the most pitying look was from a man who appeared to be homeless!

Even the homeless were happier than her. This was not a good day. Bloody, sodding fan fiction! It was only because of her sad, pathetic addiction to something so embarrassing that she had been fired. She wondered if Clive had planned it all along, the conniving weasel. She hated them and she was going to do something about it, she didn't want to be known as a pervert! It wasn't her that downloaded the pornography! But of course, she noted bitterly, no one would believe that someone who was twenty-two would read fan fiction and that was the real reason that she'd been sacked. Bastards, the whole lot of them. She vowed never to read fan fiction again! She had recognised she had an addiction, hit rock bottom and lo and behold! She was going to do something about it.

So she sat on the bus with the box on her knees, gazing out the window, planning to apply to another PA job tomorrow. As the rain trickled down the glass, she wondered why she was wasting herself working as a PA in companies that were going nowhere. She was smart! She should be able to do something better, shouldn't she? Why wasn't she doing something with her life! Bloody fan fiction!

As she arrived in her apartment, cursing with anger at being wet, at being jobless, at being humiliated, she promised herself she would never ever read fan fiction again! She HATED fan fiction!

"I HATE BLOODY FAN FICTION!" She yelled.

Big mistake, Jane Thomas, bloody big mistake.

**What's going to happen next time? What will fan fiction do to Jane Thomas for her blasphemy?**


	2. Chapter 1

**Plain Jane in Thirteen Chapters**

Plain Jane – Chapter One

_London, England, Present Time_

Suspended in a kaleidoscopic myriad of colour and shininess, Jane was floating happily, ensconced in a dream. Fool she was.

Not three hours ago had she cursed fan fiction and fan fiction did not take such insults lightly. As well as being hugely offended, fan fiction was a little upset and did not believe that Jane was justified in her feelings. It wasn't fan fiction's fault that Jane had been humiliated and fan fiction wasn't about to be ashamed of itself because of one little unemployed reader who had thought that she was superior to fan fiction because she knew what a preposition was.

Fan fiction thought about borrowing Dickens's Ghosts to show Jane the error of her ways, or trapping Jane in Davey Jones' Locker, or making her Snape's assistant for a year. That was the beauty of fan fiction, it didn't have to have any truly original ideas, just borrow someone else's and run with it and manipulate them for its own nefarious deeds. Mwah ha ha.

Fan fiction was unsure of how to punish Jane.

First fan fiction decided to confront her and to do that, fan fiction would have to bring Jane into its own realm. Which would be very painful but fan fiction was not too bothered about that.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Jane. She had suddenly woken up because her skin was burning, but she threw off her bedcovers and leapt out of bed and banged the light switch on and saw that she wasn't on fire. Her legs collapsed under her in paint... her skin was itching and it felt so hot, so very hot like molten lava was being poured onto her, she was in so much pain. Tears poured down her face but they were steaming! Steam was actually floating up! She pulled herself off the floor onto her desk, where she scorched the wood and looked into the mirror...she looked normal, if slightly freaked out.

The room, however, was not normal. Her framed picture, a copy of Holbein's The Ambassador's was melting, the glass was actually melting and dripping onto the floor...which was not a floor anymore but seemed to be a whirl pool that everything was melting into.

Bloody hell, thought Jane, her feet were starting to be pulled towards the whirlpool. The whirlpool was slowly twisting the burgundy carpet around and pulling into its depths. Jane's wardrobe shook and the large Edwardian wardrobe exploded, shards of wood flying everywhere and her clothes slowly descending into the dark abyss. Arms of shirts and legs of trousers were pulled into the whirlpool like strange flat invisible people.

Unfortunately, Jane had noted, the door was on the other side of the room from her and the whirlpool was getting larger and larger and the noise of it crunching up the wardrobe was drowning out her shouts for help. Her flatmates couldn't help her now, she was on her own.

_**Jane,**_ it whispered. _**Jane**._

Oh great, she thought as she pushed the desk into the gaping hole in the middle of the room for time, I've finally cracked it. The turquoise paint on her walls was now quickly running off the walls and Jane was covered in a thick sheen of sweat, her pyjamas sticking to her and her breathing heavy. She tried to edge around the side of the room, before the whirlpool engulfed the whole room, it was currently about six feet wide and her bed was tipping into it. She clambered back over her bed, trailing thick gooey turquoise paint and panting. She was going to reach the door, she was two feet away from it, and she was almost there...

The wooden floorboards, which were splitting around the whirlpool, were breaking all over the room, probably from the heat and lack of air. Jane's bare feet scrabbled about, splinters tearing at her thin pyjamas and piercing her skin, she felt hot bloody trickling down her calves and she desperately stretched out to the door, trying to grab the handle, her fingernails scraping the wood. But the whirlpool was too strong and the plank she was kneeling on was slowly falling down into the abyss...in a last ditch attempt she threw all her weight towards the door and grabbed onto the door handle.

Success! She ducked while the chandelier shattered and sent half melted glass everywhere and the electrical wires were sucked into the hole, sending sparks everywhere; one spark landing on the half of the bed that the whirlpool hadn't eaten yet and it went up in flame. Meanwhile, Jane was desperately trying to hold into the door handle, her hand sweaty and her strength failing her, she couldn't breathe, her chest was heaving...someone was banging on the door and shouting her name, they were trying to push the door open, but there was too many broken strips of wood pushing against the door for them to move it.

The whirlpool was whispering her name, hypnotically; Jane, Jane, Jane and she felt her fingers slipping off the door handle, one finger at a time until only the forefinger remained. She slipped from consciousness and slip helplessly into the whirlpool.

By the time Jane's flatmates had broken down the door, the entire room was black from the fire and all evidence of the whirlpool was gone, along with everything in her room.

_In the Wonderous Realm of Fan Fiction_

Jane was sore and between waking and sleeping, the odd half world where you notice some things around you but it doesn't seem to matter that much. There was a niggling feeling in the back of Jane's mind that something was very wrong, but she ignored it. Sleep now, worry later, she thought.

_**Jane**_, whispered a voice. Jane recognised that voice, who was it? It wasn't her Mum or her Dad...or her annoying flatmate, Jill, who always wanted to borrow her clothes, was it? Probably...pretend to be asleep. Mmmm.

_**Jane,**_ it said. _**Wake up, Jane**_.

It was definitely familiar. Ex-boyfriend? No, what would he be doing in her room? Wait a minute, what was this thing doing in her room? This wasn't her room! Where was her bed!

In other words, Jane woke up with a start and sat up, stiffly and shivered. Blinking and wrapping her arms around herself for heat, she surveyed her surroundings. It was very white and cold, like the 

Winter Tundra, except as she touched the ground she saw that it wasn't snow, it was a strange white power. She picked some up in her hand and sniffed it; it was caster sugar. She frowned, how weird. She looked up and the sky was white. Around her everything was white, cold and caster sugar. She stood up and brushed herself down, her pyjamas were blackened and in rags, which made her feel very vulnerable, cold and conspicuous among the almost blinding light.

_**Jane,**_ it whispered again. She jumped.

"Who are you?" she asked, "And where?" she whispered in an undertone.

**_I am everywhere and nowhere_**, it answered.

"Okay," said Jane, confused. Was this strange contradictory presence God? Or the Devil? Or Bob?

**_I am fan fiction, it revealed majestically and proudly._**

"Oh...Kay," replied Jane, her burrow furrowed and her arms crossed, but she wasn't angry, only confused.

_**I am FAN FICTION**_, it repeated.

"Yes, I heard you the first time," muttered Jane.

_**Aren't you at all impressed, asked fan fiction, that I have been personified? That I am...alive?**_

"I suppose," said Jane, "I should be. Maybe I will be later, I'm more impressed by how much caster sugar you've got here, it is amazing!"

_**Yes, fake snow is so expensive these days and I so wanted it to look like an empty wasteland and real snow would be so hard to maintain-wait! You haven't asked if I am corporeal yet! Don't you want to know?**_

"I just assumed you weren't, you did say you were everywhere and nowhere, "replied Jane, gazing at the caster sugar.

_**Ah. You are cleverer than the last infidel that I brought to the Caster Sugar Planes, complimented fan fiction. Do not eat the caster sugar!**_

Jane took her finger out of her mouth. "Sorry!"

**_Ahem, I shall tell you why you are here. You said you hated me. This is not acceptable. You hurt my feelings, said fan fiction sadly_.**

"Oh!" said Jane, guiltily, gazing at the sky. "I'm really sorry!"

**_Yes well, it's too late now, Jane Thomas. While I do appreciate your apology, which seems very heartfelt to me, you see I have a reputation to keep up and you must be punished._**

"What sort of reputation?" asked Jane, rather sceptically. "As far as I know, you are socially unacceptable and the retreat of loser unpublished writers and stupid thirteen year old girls who are still hung up on their first crush and want it to last just a little bit longer and so use their limited knowledge of grammar to write a pathetic and saccharine story of true love." Jane stood there smugly. There was a silence.

**_You are extremely rude, Jane Thomas. But yes, you are right, unfortunately this is my current reputation, I should have said that I wish to change my reputation. I wish to be cool. One day I shall be._ **

"And you're going to do that by punishing me? That's logical!" cried Jane.

**_Now, now, don't get all agitated. I wish to be seen as cool. Too long have I skirted around the edges of popularity although I am worshipped by many._**

_"_You're not a god, fan fiction."

**_And yet I have more followers than most religions,_** fan fiction said smugly. Jane harrumphed. _**I am fantastic.**_

"I hope that wasn't a pun," said Jane. "And stop blowing your own horn."

_**I am bloody brilliant,**_ said fan fiction._** I am available to all with or without an imagination. I allow young people to write, I encourage them to write! I am a stepping off platform for young writers! I am the realm of all possibilities!**_

"Yeah," said Jane, "But it's not original."

_**Jane, Jane, most ideas are not original! The world is old and people have been telling the same stories for centuries, there are only seven basic story plots. What makes them original is the telling, the original twists, the interesting little similes and metaphors, all the different motifs, the characterisation!**_

"Alright, I agree with you on that point, but you must admit that a lot of fan fiction stories out there are pretty terrible."

_**They are young, they are learning. You must let them have their learning curve, Jane. At any rate, the quality of the work is not my fault.**_

"Pah," said Jane.

_**And the best thing about me,**_ continued fan fiction, _**is that I offer constructive criticism!**_

"No you don't!" argued Jane, "The fan fiction authors do that!"

Fan fiction harrumphed. _**Now you are just nit-picking,**_ it said. The **_point is, I am wonderful and you insulted me because of your own little failings._**

"My own_ little failings_?" cried Jane, angrily. "Because of the fan fiction on my computer, I got fired!"

_**This is not my fault,**_ said fan fiction.

"Yes it bloody well is!" she argued. "If I hadn't been reading fan fiction I would never have been fired!"

_**Ah, yes. Well there are two things I would like to mention. Firstly it is not my fault that you were reading me at work.**_

"Yes, it is. You're bloody addictive, like alcohol or crack cocaine and twice as bad for my mental health!"

**_Well,_** said fan fiction, _**I must admit that I am very flattered you view me in the same league as crack cocaine, it's ever so popular in London, but not particularly socially acceptable...but as for being compared to alcohol...gosh...I'm going red, I'm ever so glad you can't see me blushing, you've made my day!**_

"What! But these are bad things! Addictive drugs are horrible!"

_**Yes I suppose so, but is it alcohols fault that there are so many alcoholics? Or is crack cocaine to blame for junkies?**_

"In a word, yes!"

_**Ah, but it is their choice to partake in it and their choice to keep partaking in it and not crack cocaine's fault. It's their own inherent failings that make them unable to say no. Many people drink a little bit of alcohol and are not addicts.**_

"Yeah, but,"

_**And that brings me onto my second point. If you had told your boss that he couldn't fire you for reading fan fiction and admitted to reading fan fiction, then he wouldn't have been able to blame you for those awful pornography charges, would he?**_

"No, I guess not," said Jane, morosely.

_**He knew, however, that you were ashamed of your little hobby and did not want to be thought of as a "loser unpublished writers and stupid thirteen year old girls who are still hung up on their first crush", didn't he?**_

"Maybe," Jane whispered sulkily.

_**Are you, Jane Thomas, a loser unpublished writer and did you start reading fan fiction because you were still hung up on a crush?**_

"Maybe," whispered Jane, inaudibly.

_**Did you think people would judge you for it?**_ Said fan fiction, kindly.

"They would! They wouldn't understand."

_**Have you ever thought, dearest Jane,**_ fan fiction said genially, _**that it is un-cool to want to be cool?**_

"Yes," replied Jane, on the edge of tears. "It's the definition of cool not to care what people think. And I don't, really, I'm only superficially un-cool, I think, I mean, I don't judge people on stupid little things but I think that they will judge me."

**_And what is so bad about being judged? Don't you know yourself well enough to form your own opinion of yourself?_**

"Well, yes, but wait! This isn't a bloody therapy session! You're just trying to distract me by pretending to be kind! You sent a whirlpool and destroyed my house and you're going to punish me now!"

**_Yes I did send a whirlpool and it did destroy your room. I don't see why you look so annoyed; it was a horrible little room. I can see you're very impatient for your punishment, you odd little human. It will be sad to see you go; I've grown quite fond of you. However, needs must. Your task is to survive in whatever fandom I send you to for the next twelve months. It's all part of my harder, more sophisticated image. If you live, I'll send you back home. If not...well you'll be dead, so I wouldn't worry about it._**

"WHAT?" screamed Jane, incensed. "Are you INSANE! You can't just drop me in a fandom! They don't bloody exist, for one-"

_**Ah, but as I said earlier, I am the realm of all possibilities. You must learn to listen, Jane.**_

"Please don't kill me, I'll do anything you want-"

_**I am going to send you into a story that you have read before, I think that is very kind of me, so that you will know the basics and-**_

"Why is it always me? I can't believe my life is so depressing-"

**_Are you listening to me Jane? Crying on the floor won't help you now. Just survive for twelve months and learn a little respect for me and you can go back to living your life._**

"Okay, fine. As long as I don't have to melt into a whirlpool into the floor."

**_Don't be silly! I wouldn't want to damage the caster sugar._**

Those were the last words Jane heard before she descended into darkness.

_Two hours later, near a river somewhere in Middle Earth_

Water was lapping at her toes and she felt contented. Oh this was a nice dream, she thought, much better than that awful dream with the caster sugar and the voice.

Someone was saying something. We've been through this before, something is talking to her, said a little part of her brain. Shut up, said a bigger part, let the girl sleep, she's had a stressful time of it lately. Yes, said a different part, if she wakes up, we might have to deal with it. Yes but what if it kills her, asked the little bit. Unlikely, said the bigger big. Oh good, it's stopped talking, said the different part, and it's walking away, good. Oh no, the little part said, it's coming back!

Someone through water on Jane's face.

"Ugggn," she moaned and blinked. Everything ached, now she was slowly moving towards being awake and her feet were wet...what had happened. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was sitting at the edge of a river, rocky villainous mountains in the background. Her eyebrows sky rocketed. This was not England, this was not Europe, this was not Caster Sugar Land...this was almost too real, the river was blue and frothy and the grass such a green...she could smell everything and it was so fresh and strong. The sun was rising in the blue sky and it was a glorious morning. Jane smiled and felt strangely happy. Then she realised her face was wet and wondered how that could have happened. She turned around and caught a whiff of something unclean, something that smelled of man, sweat and fur and was face to face with it's boot clad legs, she looked up and saw a bearded man staring back at her. He was wearing what looked like a tunic, was extremely dirty and was carrying a shield...at his waist hung a sword.

Oh my god, thought Jane. Her mouth opened and she stared back at him.

Well,

Well,

Well! What do you think? Review!


	3. Chapter 2

**Plain Jane - A Story of the Wrath of Fan Fiction**

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**.**

**Plain Jane – Chapter two**

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**.**

Ten seconds later, the staring contest was not going well. The man was definitely winning, his pale green eyes were narrowed and his hands were on his hips, whereas Jane was shivering at his feet, gazing at him horrified.

"Hello..." said Jane, experimentally. The man's eyes narrowed further and he said something in an unrecognisable language.

_"What is a child of Rohan doing sitting in a river like a simpleton?"_ he demanded. What on earth was he saying, thought Jane. Who is this strange man? Where the bloody hell am I now?

Then, of course, it came back to her; she had insulted fan fiction and fan fiction had punished her by sending her into a fandom and she was pretty sure this was not Harry Potter. This was Middle Earth...a world akin to the Middle Ages in real life, where chivalry, nobility, chastity and funny clothes prevailed. And of course, evil orcs that would rape and kill her and all manner of other horrible nasty things. Crap.

"_Speak, child!"_

The man was talking again, bringing Jane back from her realisations...but now an even worse one occurred to her; they didn't speak English here! At all! They spoke Westron!

"I've no idea what you're saying, you great lump, so shut the hell up," she said grumpily, dragging herself up and standing proud in front of him, her hands on her hips and her head held high, mirroring his stance. This would have been far more impressive if she hadn't been wearing her ripped and ragged pyjamas.

"_I know not who you are or what language you can speak...nor what on Middle Earth you are wearing...I can only presume that you have suffered some attack...or are mad. I shall accompany you to the nearest village,"_ said the man. He turned around and started walking towards his horse.

Jane watched as he turned around and walked towards his horse. Ooh, a horse, she thought. Jane liked horses and this one was especially fine, it was larger than any horse she had ever seen, a dark tan coat and bright shiny eyes. It had lovely golden hair and seemed proud, fierce yet friendly at the same time. It looked intelligent, almost as if it understood her. This could not be said for the grumpy man.

He was tall and rather old, she noted. Perhaps about forty and he look strong and seemed to be built like a wall. His hair was shaggy, he had an unkempt beard and he was wearing a thick cloak and furs and a tunic with a barely visible white tree on it. He looked fierce and noble at the same time, rather like the horse, except the horse looked far friendlier and a bit better looking. Not that he was ugly, only he looked like he didn't have a sense of humour. He had a big nose and heavy features and Jane thought that although he was handsome enough, she wasn't in danger of losing her heart. Criticism indeed, from a young woman who looked like she had been dragged through a bush backwards, was coated in white powder and was wearing soggy, blackened, ripped pyjamas. If she had seen herself then she would have agreed with the man, she looked half mad.

The man turned around and looked at her expectantly, his hand on his hip keeping his cloak from swishing around him, also revealing a large horn. Jane noted the horn and her heart clenched suddenly, this was Boromir! He must be on his way to the Council in Rivendell. Suddenly, she felt much better, all she had to do was get to Rivendell, and then she could live out the next year in relative finery and beauty and most importantly, cleanliness. The elves were the sort of people who seemed to view hygiene as a priority, she mused, gazing at her sooty bare feet and sighing. Sorted! She started walking towards Boromir, suddenly aware that she was rather wet and extremely sore.

"Ow," she said. Luckily this word is universal and Boromir realised she was in pain and gave her a swig of his hip flask to perk her up.

"What is your name?" he asked, suddenly. She looked at him blankly, so he pointed to himself and said "Boromir."

"Ahhh, I see-"

"Ahhh-I see? Odd name but then you are an awfully odd creature," mused Boromir.

"No! Jane. Jane." Jane protested, not wanting to have to reply to Ahhh I see for the next twelve months...she giggled when she realised that if she was Jane that made him Tarzan. Boromir raised his eyebrow. "Jane," she said firmly.

She was about to stick her hand out and shake his but her lifted her onto the horse rather suddenly (she said "Hey Boromir!") then clambered on himself and dug his heels in and they were off.

Over the next few hours Jane found that Boromir wasn't really inclined towards conversation and preferred to ride on at such a speed she was amazed the horse could handle it. But then again, she mused, these were horses from Middle Earth, they were bound to be a bit special, weren't they? So she contented herself with staring at the scenery, which was pretty amazing. The air was cool and fresh and it made her cheeks pink as they galloped along, green whizzing past them and mountain's slowly disappearing. The colours were so amazing, it was like a vibrant Turner painting, all light and darkness and effervescence. However, it was rather boring to ooh and ah over the scenery and she had had a rather trying time of it lately, and so, eventually she fell asleep, which she was later angry at herself for, but she had had a rather unpleasant day, so she forgave herself.

When she awoke she was lying on the ground (which was becoming something of a tradition) and it was nightfall, the sun hanging barely above the trees. Boromir was tending to the fire.

"So you're awake," he said, when he observed her stretching.

"Do we have any food, Boromir?" she asked, sitting cross legged across from him. He stared at her, frowning at the odd way she was sitting.

"I assume you're hungry, I have caught and skinned a rabbit, I have only to find some more firewood and then I shall cook the food," said Boromir.

"Huh?" said Jane. Boromir waved a stick. "Oh," she continued, "You need more firewood. No problem, I'll go get some, I could do with a bit of a walk," she told him, and so got up, stretched and yawned again and walked off.

"Where are you going, Jane?" He called, exasperated. He admonished himself, "Perhaps she needs to relieve herself." He sighed. If he was lucky, maybe she wouldn't come back and he would not have to help her; although she was not particularly heavy, she was slowing the horse down if she had fallen asleep after barely an hour, he did not know what he would have done. Her constant chattering was annoying the Mordor out of him, it would have been tolerable if had been in a language that he could understand! This trip was not going as well as he had hoped. He did not want to be here, he wanted to be in Osgiliath, in Gondor, fighting for his people, not trying to find a place that no one knew where it was. Or looking after a mad girl who didn't speak the Common Tongue, or, by the sounds of it, the language of Rohan, although she had long blonde hair like them. He hoped there was some logical explanation for her origins, and her odd burnt clothes, otherwise this stunk of witch craft.

There were two things Boromir didn't like; things he didn't understand and teetotallers. Women, he didn't understand...and if he were being totally honest with himself, he was a little scared of them sometimes. Moody and silly and superficial, they were and they always wanted to marry him! And not Faramir, which he didn't understand, as Faramir was charming and sensitive and read books that weren't about warfare. It was damn annoying. Boromir knew that he had to get married one day, he just wasn't looking forward to it. He liked the camaraderie of the army, he liked male company better as they strictly no-nonsense most of the time anyway and they didn't expect to be brought tokens of his affection.

She was coming back. He sighed; she hadn't been eaten by a stray warg. She was carrying a bundle of dry firewood in her arms and looked fairly pleased with herself and he smiled at her...she had redeemed herself for drooling all over his tunic. She handed the firewood to Boromir, who added it to the kindling and he soon had a decent fire going. They sat around the fire and waited for the rabbit to cook as the shadows grew longer and the flames danced and licked the wood.

"So," said Jane and Boromir groaned, couldn't she give it a rest? "How do you say 'My name is Jane'?" she asked. He looked at her despairingly. She pointed at him, "Your name is Boromir," she pointed at herself, "my name is Jane." Boromir understood, she wanted him to teach him Westron. Not for the first, nor for the last time, Boromir wished that Faramir had been sent on this mission.

**Two Long Long Weeks Later, Southern Border of Eriador**

Boromir hated Jane. Utterly utterly hated her. They had lost the horse through NO FAULT OF HIS OWN and she had given him this look, oh it was such a look, it combined the high expectations of his father and the incredulity of Faramir when Boromir had done something particularly reckless and something entirely Jane. Probably condescension, as if she was saying, I didn't think that even YOU Boromir, were that stupid. So Boromir was doing the manly thing and sulking.

Jane sat opposite Boromir, around the fire. They were both thoroughly miserable, wet, scratched and had had several arguments over the last two weeks and Jane was thinking that she would rather be in orcs' company than Boromir's. He had insisted on crossing the river at a dangerous ford and they had lost their horse, Atanatar. Poor Atanatar, sniffed Jane. This place was miserable...it was grey and cold and the leaves were falling off the trees.

The river had been awful. She had felt strange, nostalgic almost, for a time that she had not lived in, when this place had been full of people. It was a wide river but Boromir said that it was shallow but that it was full of old ruins. She had said that she had a bad feeling about this, and Boromir had looked like he was going to through her into the river. The river had been shallow, for the most part, but full of holes and it was marshy and muddy, algae swimming around her legs like green eerie fingers. She had taken to wearing Boromir's spare tunic that was like a dress on her and extremely baggy but she still didn't have any shoes, so she had tentatively and gingerly had waded through the river. Boromir held her by her upper arm and pulled her out of the water when she fell in.

She thought that there was a bridge underneath the algae, it seemed that she could feel flat stones underneath her feet.

"Boromir, what river men stone..."she mimed a bridge with her free hands. Boromir grunted and said yes. "What name?" she asked, hopefully. Sometimes Boromir didn't bother telling her new words, he was the worst, most impatient teacher ever. She still hadn't forgiven him for trying to fob her off to a bunch of poverty-stricken peasants who lived in a rickety little cottage and seemed to live of mainly roots.

"What IS IT CALLED?" he stressed, pulling her out yet another hole. Couldn't she manage not to fall in every single bloody hole, he thought? It was bad enough trying to lead a nervous horse along an extremely old underwater bridge with one hand, he didn't need the hassle of pulling Jane up with the other. She had proved extremely clumsy and accident prone and he had tried very hard to convince her to stay with the lovely village people he had met. They had been poor, yes, and had barely any teeth, yes (something Jane had seemed horrified by. She did have all her own teeth and they were very pearly, he had noticed, which probably meant that she was rich, wherever she had been before he had found her sleeping in the river) and they were wearing what appeared to be large shapeless sacks. But so what if they had been poor and she would have lived a miserable life toiling in the fields among people who didn't speak the language with her? At least he would not have had to answer her many questions, face being laughed at whenever something amusing occurred to her and even worse, be smirked at. She was always smirking at him, as if she knew something he didn't. He wished she had stayed with the peasants, she would at least be safe from the dangers of Eriador, which was full of ruffians and possibly bands of orcs and she would have lots of roots to eat. So far they had been lucky but it was a strange land. Boromir didn't like it.

"Bridge," he said gruffly. Atanatar neighed angrily, he was very unhappy about being dragged across this river.

"Bridge," repeated Jane.

It happened very suddenly. Atanatar was a big horse, a muscular horse that could carry easily in full armour and the sunken bridge they were tramping across was old, very old and crumbling under the water, the algae slowly pulling it apart. Boromir remembered the moment perfectly afterwards and replayed it in his head many times. It was mid-afternoon, they were three-quarters of the way across the river, maybe only fifty metres to go and it was a clear day, no clouds. The Barrow Down Mountains could be seen distantly and the grass on the other side of the Grey looked unbelievably inviting. Jane was concentrating on walking, frowning, her hair falling into her eyes, mumbling about bridges.

Part of the bridge gave way and Boromir, Jane and Atanatar were plunged into the water.

Boromir sank like a stone, but quickly used his shield to hold onto part of the bridge that was still standing. The water was murky, unclean and full of bubbles due to the algae that was thick and streaming upwards, he looked around quickly for Jane who was floating beneath him. A tentacle something green had twisted around her ankle and she was violently tugging at it. Boromir pulled a dagger out of his boot and leant down to hand it to her; she eagerly grabbed it and cut herself free while Boromir tried to find Atanatar.

He was tangled in a hundred green tentacles, frantically struggling, too far away to reach. Boromir felt his heart sink...he couldn't save his horse, his beloved Atanatar. So he pulled himself up onto the bridge with his shield and pulled a swimming Jane to him. They tentatively and silently limped over to the other side, steadfastly ignoring each other's pained expression. When the riverbed was in sight, they fell eagerly onto it and Boromir stole a glance at Jane, to see the look that seemed to squeeze his heart, the look that combined Denethor's high expectations and Faramir's incredulity and Jane's...something.

She had trusted him. Unequivocally and he had let her down, he had drowned her precious horse (he had begun to think of Atanatar as her horse when he had found her braiding his hair and amazingly Atanatar had let her. When he had seen her sneaking the horse part of her meals, talking to him when she was supposed to be sleeping, treating him as more of as a friend than she treated him...that's when he started thinking of Atanatar as Jane's horse) and almost killed her. He was a failure and he had never failed at anything before.

All his supplies had been in the pack on Atanatar. Even the kindling and so he had to start the fire from scratch, while Jane sat on the ground, looking like a drowned rat and as miserable as he felt. She was shivering and staring at the ground. She is probably wishing she is with the toothless peasants, he thought, bitterly.

Jane was bloody freezing and Boromir was taking forever with the fire. She sneezed. Boromir looked up at her, his face so dejected and distressed that her heart softened, she missed grumpy and annoying Boromir, she didn't like Blue Boromir, whose green eyes looked so cheerless. She moved closer to him and gave him a hug, her hands stretching wide across his frame.

After about ten seconds this became uncomfortable and she retreated, but Boromir looked a bit less like he was going to off himself, so Jane felt satisfied. Two seconds later he managed to spark a light and so the fire started and they sat companionably side by side, dripping and thinking about their poor dead horse.

After that, Boromir and Jane became much better friends. However, their situation got steadily worse.

The ruffians saw their pathetic fire and decided to attack them. This was an unwise move on their part, as Jane found out, as Boromir valued his sleep and was greatly angered if he was woken from it by violent and desperate outlaws.

He was a great warrior, she realised, as he swung his sword about with strength, grace and accuracy. There were only about ten men, and they all looked deranged, thin, emaciated even, their skin 

yellowing and discoloured, their clothes looked ragged and their fingernails long and sharp and they were carrying long daggers. No match for Boromir's sword. Jane, who still had Boromir's dagger, waved it menacingly at the man who came near her. He was shorter than her, with a long scraggly beard. He seemed to know intuitively that she was an innocent and was smiling and laughing at her in a menacing way.

Jane was scared, so scared. Falling into water and possibly drowning was bad enough, losing her horse was upsetting, hugging Boromir was traumatic enough, but a savage man growling at her, she couldn't handle. She freaked out and kicked him where it hurts and ran over to Boromir, who had picked up a stick from the fire and was waving it at the men and with his other hand, piercing them with his sword. It was really quite impressive.

He took care of the savage man easily and all ten men were dead before the sun had set. Unfortunately, this meant they had to move their campsite.

They spent the next two weeks continuously walking, as Boromir was (paranoid, in Jane's opinion) sure that evil was afoot and they walked/limped many miles every day and sometimes well into the night. Boromir, who was unsure where Rivendell actually was, felt frustrated he had not found it yet, as he had been travelling for many months and Jane was sometimes too tired to improve her Westron, but they arrived in the valley of Imaldris soon enough. Its wondrous beauty kept even Jane in silent awe.

Mostly she was looking forward to meeting Aragorn, who she thought sounded like a bit of a looker and anyone that Boromir didn't like was her biggest hero.

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N.B. Thanks to all those who reviewed! The first month of Jane's expedition in Middle Earth is covered! What do you think?


	4. Chapter 3

The fourth installment of what happens when fan fiction goes wrong! What exciting adventures will Jane get up to next? Will Boromir murder her through sheer frustration?

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Plain Jane - Chapter Three

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So the basic premise is that a beautiful, talented, perfect woman would be thrust into a glorious but savage world where a rough but kind man would be waiting for her. They would bond, he would be awed by her singing talent and her quick ability to learn any weapon and she would be bowled over by his rugged but noble charms.

This thought Jane, as she limped along the plain, her feet blistering and sore, is what is supposed to happen. How on earth could anyone think that living in the wild, for months on end, was conducive to a romantic relationship? A meaner part of her wondered how anyone thought a romantic relationship with Boromir was possible.

I mean, she thought as she walked across the rather bouncy grass, he was completely impossible. And he wasn't exactly inclined to romance but then, neither was she.

She was completely exhausted. She had lost lots of weight and muscles had grown in their place, everything ached, especially her poor bare feet. Boromir wasn't looking fresh either. Even making nice with Boromir was not on her mind, never mind more amorous feelings.

How was anyone supposed to fall in love on the road? She supposed that they were forced into each other's company more than they would be, were they in a city. But familiarity had bred, if not contempt, an aversion to each other.

Boromir would teach Jane ten new Westron words a day and while they would walk together, conversation was not encouraged. This kept Jane from ranting at Boromir at how he was the worst leader in the history of Middle Earth, which had been her favourite topic after she found out that he had no idea where he was going and was rather lost. Boromir refrained from mumbling under his breath about how he wanted to throw Jane into the River Bruinen and just run away.

She felt very silly now, for the long hours that she had spent reading stories that were so unrealistic and simplified, instead of learning how to skin a rabbit, or tell the difference between poisonous plants and the edible ones, start a fire or hike up a mountain without getting a stitch. How stupid of her for indulging in escapist bodice ripping fairy-tales and chocolate. God she missed the escapist bodice ripping fairy-tales. She could do with some light hearted relief, she had blisters on her blisters, she had been wearing Boromir's spare tunic for weeks and her hair was so greasy that it had begun to clean itself. Once, in a fit of desperation, she had asked Boromir if he had a comb. He had stared at her for a minute then he had laughed until he cried.

She didn't remember Boromir having such a sense of humour. But then, J.R.R. Tolkien had failed to mention several things about Boromir, or perhaps she had never noticed before. Firstly and most annoyingly, he snored. Loudly, so loudly that she had thought he would attract trouble. Secondly, he was very grumpy and mumbled what seemed to be threats under his breath. Thirdly, he was sweaty and dirty and didn't really seem to care. In fact, he seemed to relish in it. Jane had not seen her own reflection for over a month now and was terrified that whenever they arrived in Rivendell she would be mistaken for an orc. She had scraped her tangled hair back and tied it out of her way, but she still felt unbelievably gross. But by far the most unsettling thing about Boromir was how sad he seemed, 

no one had ever really picked up on that. Whenever Boromir allowed them to make camp (which was getting later and later every night, she had noticed) he spent his time gazing into the distance, his expression so melancholy.

Jane was starting to feel a sort of compassion for Boromir. Even though, she reasoned, he was a fictional character and died in less than a year so there was no point getting attached. As soon as she thought that, she felt unbelievably cruel and shocked at herself. He was alive, he wasn't just a flat fictional literary character, and she could see him breathing...and sweating and accumulating dirt.

He must have had a hard life. As far as Jane could remember, his mother had died when he was young and his father was a tough authoritarian that relied heavily on Boromir. And he had a younger brother called Faramir, who was a bit fey and romantic, totally the opposite of pragmatic Boromir. His poor country was overrun by orcs and it was his job to defend it; what a responsibility!

This didn't stop Jane thinking of Boromir as an ass though.

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_Two weeks ago, somewhere along the Bruinen River_

Jane had only seen various animals over the past few weeks (she included Boromir in that generalisation) and had almost forgotten that this world was full of monsters. Except of course, that's not really something that completely escapes your mind, so it was there at the back of her mind, hanging like a grey cloud over her. It had been a cold day, cold and windy and grey. It was dusk, the sun was almost set and still they were walking. Jane was glaring at Boromir, who was steadily ignoring her. Jane's feet were freezing, wet and wrinkled like prunes, a condition that made her unwilling to walk any further and she was about to start shouting at him, but they heard movement behind them. Boromir quickly grabbed her upper arm and thrust her into the undergrowth. With his hand over her mouth, he had pulled her down and pulled her close to him. A big rabble stray orcs had run through past them, screaming with their high pitched, piercing voices that seemed too ugly to be real.

Jane's heart was in her mouth, beating tellingly like Edgar Allen Poe's. The last time she had encountered orcs she had been running on adrenaline and the revulsion had not hit her so hard. They were disgusting creatures, putrid and mouldy looking, oozing blood and sweat and tufts of hair protruding their ugly faces. Worst of all was their eyes, green and flashing in the moonlight.

Jane had never been so terrified in her life. Boromir and Jane had no chance against such a large group of orcs, especially in the dark and so had to keep very quiet while they ran past them. She was convinced the orcs could smell them, with their huge grotesque noses. Unconsciously, she gripped Boromir's other hand.

It was an almost moment. This could have been the bonding moment, where Boromir fell for Jane's fragility and vulnerability and Jane fell for Boromir's manly protection. This however was not to be, as they had barely reached amicability. As soon as the orcs ran past, Jane let go of Boromir's hand and blushed with embarrassment and shame for being so weak and needy and had clambered away from Boromir as quick as she could. She didn't want to be cutesy, like Marilyn Munroe, or Mickey Mouse.

They had walked for some time in silence. The night air was refreshing and everything was calm and still, but Jane knew the threat of danger was still there. They had made camp, wearily lay down on the ground, hungry and exhausted. As soon as Jane laid her head on her bed of leaves, she drowsily began to sink into sleep. But unfortunately, sleep did no claim her, but her subconscious tried to contact her.

**There is something, it said, over there.**

**Shush, said her conscious, I am trying to sleep.**

**Why does no one ever listen to me? The subconscious asked infuriated. I am trying to save our life.**

**What?**

**There is something in those bushes.**

**What bushes, asked the conscious, suspiciously. Is this just some ruse for me to pay attention to you?**

**Don't ask stupid questions, save our bloody life!**

Jane opened her eyes, aware something was very wrong. She didn't move but listened. The first thing she heard was Boromir's snoring, reassuringly familiar. Then she heard the wind rustling though the trees...except that wasn't the trees. That was the bushes, the bushes not two metres away from them! Her heart froze, as it was suddenly transformed into lead and every nerve on her body was filled with powerful electricity. She turned her head to Boromir's immense lump of a body, which was still snoring. How could he be asleep? They were going to be attacked!

"Boromir," she whispered. He continued snoring. "Boromir..." she whispered again. "Boromir!" she hissed.

He spluttered and turned his head towards her. "Jane. This better be good," he muttered in Westron, his eyes sleep.

"Orcs," she said. Boromir became alert immediately. He nodded, his hand clasping his sword. Quick and light as a fawn, he jumped up and into the undergrowth and was enveloped by the bushes' leaves. Jane stood shakily up and unsheathed her dagger and walked slowly and warily towards the bush. Why couldn't she hear anything? What was Boromir doing? Was he alive? Her breathing was heavy and frantic and then suddenly! Boromir burst through the undergrowth again (did this man do nothing gently?) grinning like a madman.

He was holding up a little grey bunny rabbit.

"Orc," he said, smirking at her.

She gaped at him for a second then hit his chest. " You Orc," she said, meaning him. He laughed, heartily, his rich voice pushing away all her fear and replacing it with annoyance.

Boromir dropped the bunny rabbit which hopped slowly away and put his hands on his hips, beaming at her.

"I'm going to sleep," she said, angrily and flung herself on the ground. She felt like an idiot. Boromir followed her after a while, still chuckling to herself.

The next day, he would jump while they were walking and gasp. Jane, every time, would say "What? What!"? And he would point at a leaf, or a stick and say;

"Orc!" then burst out laughing.

Jane wished fan fiction had landed her in Mordor, rather than face this humiliation.

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When Jane had learnt to speak Westron slightly better (as in, she didn't solely rely on hand gestures and looking beseechingly at Boromir) the Elves asked her about her first view of Rivendell. They asked every visitor to their beloved city this question, except Boromir who was scared of them and avoided them, and they were especially interested in Jane's answer. They thought Jane was exotic, with her wavy blonde and pale skin, interesting because of her odd turn of phrase and strange behaviour for a woman and because she was the only human who had dared wink at Erestor.

Jane had said that Imaldris was like water after being in the desert for so long, which satisfied the Elves because it was poetic. Jane, of course, had carefully dodged the question. She wasn't even paying attention to Imaldris when she first entered it.

She was too busy arguing with Boromir and lamenting the extreme pain her feet were in.

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"Boromir," moaned Jane, "Dark and wet and cold," she complained. It was, though, she reasoned when Boromir sent her yet another contemptuous look. Although the death of their horse had brought them together in some ways, it had driven them apart in others; Jane no longer had a sympathetic ear and Boromir no longer had an equal. And Boromir pointing at various rocks and saying "Orc!" then laughing was very quickly getting old.

Jane's feet were quickly developing extremely thick skin, rather like a hobbit's, as they had still not obtained shoes for her. They still hurt though, but that was nothing compared to how hungry she was, and how tired she felt. Her muscles had staged a rebellion. Even Boromir looked tired, his skin haggard and he was walking more heavily than usual.

Jane didn't even want to think about bad they smelled.

"Stop?" Jane had learnt this word early on and tried to muster up some strength to give him the puppy dog eyed look. Boromir shook his shaggy haired head. Jane started swearing at him in English, calling him all manner of rude words.

Boromir tried to ignore it, he was getting a headache and he was very worried about being late. He wasn't sure what for, but surely it was his Numenorean blood trying to tell him something, that there was something he was not supposed to miss and Jane was slowing him down. And so, accordingly, he had started waking Jane half an hour earlier every day, until they were barely 

sleeping four hours a night. The first few nights she had not noticed, and it was strangely satisfying, Boromir found, to get something past her hawk eyes. It was a thankless task, however, as Jane would "accidentally" slap Boromir in the face every time he shook her awake and had stopped even trying to apologise after the first few times.

His nose was still throbbing.

He had always been under a lot of pressure, he mused, while Jane moodily stomped along behind him, kicking the undergrowth and swearing at him (he could just tell). His father expected a lot, for him to be a great warrior, to be noble and courtly and protect Gondor at all costs and he would do it. He HAD done it, for the last twenty-five years he had been in the army, training, fighting always fighting. He was good at fighting though, he felt more at home in the army than he did in the court, surrounded by simpering ladies and arrogant politicians. Luckily Denethor had married late himself and was not pushing him towards marriage as of yet. Denethor seemed to realise that Boromir preferred to be outdoors where there were usually no women.

But this dream he had, this prophecy, this was so intangible and frightening. As I said earlier, Boromir did not like things he did not understand and strange prophecies were in this category. So he did the only thing he could do; walk faster and frown. And relive the tension growing in his neck by arguing with Jane or making fun of her. It was so very therapeutic.

"You don't even KNOW where we're going!" yelled Jane, aware Boromir didn't understand her and was striding on ahead pretending not to listen. "I read the book, you know, you have NO IDEA where we are, you stupid man, yet you insist on walking like we've got a host or orcs behind us!"

"You are going to bring a whole host of orcs on us with your incessant ranting!" replied Boromir, "You silly woman! Can't you be quiet for one second!"

"I hate this stupid place, it's full of nettles and I haven't even seen a proper village yet! Where are all the people? Where the HELL are we? We're probably in the back end of beyond. Bloody fan fiction, I mean, all the amazing people I could have ended up with, the legends, the heroes, it had to be you, didn't it? I could have been in Minas Tirith, or Rivendell, or even Edoras but no! And you got Atanatar drowned, you insisted on crossing the Greyflood-"

Boromir who was grinding his teeth, understanding her tone, if not her words, picked up on his horse's name and almost growled.

"Do not start on that again, woman! He was my horse first and I miss him too!" He quickened his pace and strode off.

Jane stopped and her face fell. Her anger at Boromir really stemmed at having spent a month walking continually, sleeping on the ground and eating the bare minimum and the embarrassment she felt for mistakenly thinking a rabbit hopping around in a bush was a dangerous, murdering orc. To make matters worse, everything ached, muscles ached in places she didn't know she had muscles and she felt so unclean, despite several extremely cold dips in the river they had been following. It just wasn't the same as home, with soap and body wash and deodorant. How unclean she felt was always on her mind.

She was also slightly worried about her mental health; only now had she realised that she had been sent into a fictitious world by what was essentially a personified literary genre. How had she not noticed this before? Perhaps it was too surreal to be questioned? Usually when one is in a situation that is...unexpected, unlooked for, dangerous, adrenaline prevails and one usually doesn't have the time to question whether or not you are hallucinating. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

But just because she had not immediately thought, this is not normal, I must be mad, did not necessarily mean that she was mad. Although, looking at the evidence she was slightly concerned. Perhaps she was in a coma? Perhaps her room really had burnt down and she was horrifically burned and her subconscious had not known how to deal with it and so had retreated into something more comforting.

She dismissed this idea; she had never been more uncomfortable in her life and had blisters everywhere.

And so to suppress the growing fear she was insane, she took out her fear by bickering with her least favourite fictional character, the Captain-General of Gondor. As for the Man of Gondor, he tried to suppress the ever increasing desire to tie Jane to a tree and just leave her there by imagining gagging her.

But perhaps it was best he had stormed off, she thought, starting to move again, so she didn't have to look at his stupid face or listen to him muttering under his breath in Westron. Except now she felt doubly alone.

It was so quiet. For the first time Jane took notice of her surroundings, the soft grass beneath her feet and the cool breeze. They had been following a river for many weeks now, the one that they had lost Atanatar in, and had crossed it again much to Jane's anger. It had been completely pointless to cross the same river twice, but luckily it was much shallower the second time.

The river was very noisy usually and it was quieter now and shallower, the deep green of the algae had been muted. It was less creepy now, as you could see the river bed and knew there were no corpses below. Tall mountains could be seen in the distance, their peaks shrouded in mist and trees were thicker on the ground. Jane had seen a stag not two days ago.

Jane had spotted it and nudged Boromir, who had turned to her with an unsurprisingly suspicious expression on his face. It had softened though, when he spotted the stag she was gazing at. He was majestic, strong, proud, a beautiful flaxen colour with soft shiny fur. Jane wanted to pet him and had walked towards him but Boromir had pulled her back just as the stag noticed their presence and fled back through the trees.

The trees seemed straighter here, taller and older, the air fresher. It was calm and beautiful and Jane doubted that evil could exist here, it would melt into nothingness at the borders.

Jane smiled. She liked it here. Her feet seemed to ache just that little bit less. Of course, like any really good thing, it had crept up on her and neither she nor Boromir had realised that they had arrived at their destination.

They had been following the river for some time now, but due to their petty arguments had failed to realise that they were traipsing into a valley. A valley of greenery and beauty that seemed to transcend them...Jane felt like she was floating on the grass below her feet and the soft breeze was caressing her cheeks.

When they eventually reached the Last Homely House, Jane almost cried with happiness. Luckily no one mistook her for an orc and a kind Elf took her to a room to sleep and have a bath.

Boromir was ushered into the Council of Elrond. Even if Jane had been feeling up to going to the Council of Elrond, even if she had been allowed to (which was very unlikely) she wouldn't have wanted to. She already knew what was going to happen and so what if it was history in the making? There was no way in hell that she was moving from Rivendell in the next 10 months and two weeks. She would live out her imprisonment in finery and splendour, where personal hygiene was king.

By now you would have thought that Jane had realised she had no say in this. Silly girl.

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_**I'm going with the controversial decision that Jane will miss the Council! Not much dialogue today, but Boromir and Jane don't really converse. Next chapter will be nice and chatty. Well, what do you think?**_


	5. Chapter 4

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Chapter Four - of Plain Jane in Thirteen Chapters - a look at what happens if you upset fan fiction

_Rivendell_

Jane Thomas loved her bedroom in Rivendell.

A few words should be said on the topic of Jane's room. It was neither grand, nor large, nor sensual. It was, however, light and airy like the rest of Rivendell and most importantly it had a bed in it. There was an actual bed with clean, crisp white sheets and two (two!) pillows and a dresser with a mirror. It was a simple room but practical and Jane loved it and her heart sank at the thought of leaving it. There was no better feeling than the feeling of wriggling around on cool clean sheets after a long hot bath. It was like being enveloped in a cloud, a cloud of pure happiness. Jane had learnt to love the simple things in life, like clean sheets...clean anything.

Eventually, she had to leave (only because she realised that being fed food would be even better than being clean). She had wandered around the long corridors, marvelling at how the Elves had managed to weave the structure around nature. It was like the Last Homely House was a living breathing building and that was rather fascinating. Everything was intricate and fiddly. She spent the first few hours moseying around in a daze, wondering if she had ever seen anything as beautiful as Imaldris.

Then her stomach had growled at her like an angry giant cat stuck in her stomach, clawing to get out and she decided that searching out sustenance was a priority.

This is how she met the Hobbits; in the kitchen. She had been following her nose. Apart from the Elf who had shown her to the bath and the other Elf who had given her the dress, she had seen no one; the place seemed to be deserted so she couldn't ask for directions. Of course, she realised, they had plenty of other things to do; showing around a young girl who couldn't even speak Westron wasn't on the top of their priority list, especially what with the War of the Ring now officially started.

She would have liked to have seen Elrond or Aragorn though.

Her head was up in the clouds, thinking of all the legendary people she could meet, when she stumbled across the threshold of the kitchen. Rather literally, as her dress was quite long (Elves are tall) and she tripped on it.

It was a warm brown room, rather unlike the other parts of Rivendell, and interestingly an open-plan kitchen. Two curly haired little people were holding a basket full of small sweet cakes and bloody hell was that jam?

Jane realised she was staring and remembered her manners.

"Greetings," she said in rather wobbly Westron, "My name Jane. How fare you?"

The younger one grinned and shared a look with the slightly older one. They were so cute, thought Jane.

"Hullo," said one rather shyly. "My name is Peregrin Took, but everyone calls me Pippin."

"And I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, or rather, Merry."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance!"

Merry nudged Pippin and they attempted a very shaky but rather adorable bow.

"Remember your manners!" said Merry, in a whisper. He saw Jane gazing wistfully at his basket full of goodies. "Would you like to have tea with us?" he asked. Pippin looked torn; as much as he liked new people and this person was especially interesting, he never liked to share his food with someone who looked so ravenous. His good nature won, however, and he belatedly smiled up at Jane.

"Please do!"

Jane's stomach rumbled again and she grinned embarrassedly. "Thank you!" she said, gratefully.

"This way!" said Merry and Pippin picked up a big pot of tea which Jane had not even notice . Despite being vertically challenged, they seemed very strong and carrying the tea pot and the jam they scuttled off at a rather quick pace for such short legs, muttering about being late.

"I bet that she is Boromir's mysterious guest," whispered Pippin, risking a glance back at Jane who was slowly walking behind them, gazing around her curiously and not taking much notice of the hobbits.

"Sshh! She'll hear us! She doesn't speak any language that Gandalf knows, isn't that funny? They have no idea where she is from. Boromir found her sleeping, sleeping, by a river in the wild! The Elves said she was filthy when she arrived, dirtier than an orc! Glorfindel told me that she had to have two baths!"

"TWO BATHS!" cried Pippin, rather jealously. Hobbits love baths.

"She liked the baths though," said Merry, "So it's not wasted on her like it would be on Boromir." (Boromir was not averse to being clean, in fact, he quite liked being clean. It was just not on his top priorities list and was much too busy at the moment to justify a long hot soak. Especially since Aragorn didn't bathe too often. There was no way he was bathing more than Aragorn. He was a Man, a manly Man, he could take a bit of dirt! And of course, the Hobbits had noticed this and already begun teasing him, which was okay, because manly Men can also take a bit of teasing, as long as it doesn't come from pretty but dirty girls.)

"She likes tea, too. Big folk don't often like tea. And she likes cake. And it's not even a meal time..."

Pippin and Merry both stopped at the same time, turned back to look at Jane who also stopped. They were staring at her with a mixture of incredulity and wonder. Or rather, they were staring at her feet.

"What?" she said, rather amused and bemused. Pippin gulped and nudged Merry. Merry, who was holding the tea pot, almost fell over and Jane reached out and steadied him with one hand, and relieved him of the tea pot with another. Pippin, who was very cheeky, took advantage of the situation and pulled up her skirt to peer at her feet. "Hey!" said Jane and frowned at him. Pippin was adorably cute though, something he knew and often used to get out of trouble.

"We thought you might be an over-grown hobbit," he said matter- of-fact. Jane understood the gist of it, looking from the two pairs of hairy hobbit feet to her small, slipper clad feet and laughed.

"Me? Hobbit?" she asked, starting to laugh, gesturing to her ears and her height.

"Don't worry," said Pippin. "No one's perfect."

* * *

Pippin and Merry led Jane out to a terrace over looking over the river and down the valley. Oh, it was very beautiful and stunning.

Not out of this world stunning, mind. It was lovely and a bit magical, but Jane felt no inclination to faint, break out into song or sigh longingly. She noted that it did look a bit like Western Europe, although everything looked a bit greener and a bit cleaner (no global warming, she mused) and very fresh. Even though the Elves were in the Autumn of their stay here on Middle Earth and the leaves on the trees were turning golden brown, it was nothing like a British autumn. It wasn't raining, the wind was barely a breeze and the sky was clear and there was actually sunlight.

More importantly than the weather, were the three Hobbits sitting around the table on the balcony. The first one was incredibly old and wizened, but he looked kind and his fluffy white hair was very cute. There was a spark in his eye which said that he wasn't passed it yet. Jane guessed that this was Bilbo. The second hobbit was slightly fat, chubby even, healthy looking, rosy cheeked and had copper curly hair. He looked jovial and was clearly looking after the other two. Same, thought Jane. The third and the most interesting hobbit looked tired. A little bit ill, even. He was pale and had large luminous eyes, which portrayed a special kind of intelligence, an Elf like air. While Sam looked earthy and heavy, Frodo seemed light, airy and like a little pixie. He also seemed slightly unnatural, like something was very wrong.

Introductions were hastily made as hobbits are very particular (greedy) about their high tea and as Jane couldn't speak sufficient amounts of Westron to communicate beyond how hungry she was and how nice it was to meet everyone, there seemed no reason to wait.

Yum, thought Jane, who decided to refrain from stuffing her face. She was busy sipping her tea and chewing the cake and listening to the double act that was Merry and Pippin when something tugged at her heart. Oh. What was that?

"No Pippin, you're quite wrong, it's best to pour the milk into the cups before the tea-"

"That's daft, Merry. Utterly daft. Why?"

"Well obviously it's because...because it's obvious!"

"That's not a reason!"

"The old Gaffer always told me to pour the milk in first so as to not crack the tea cups," ventured Sam.

"Very practical, Sam," said Frodo, smiling.

Bilbo harrumphed. "It changes the taste!" he complained.

"But for the better, or the worse?" asked Frodo, who was often the peacekeeper in these sorts of delicate issues.

Everyone sat pensively for a second. Jane rubbed her heart, wondering if she had indigestion, after all it had been a while since she'd had proper meals...maybe she wasn't chewing properly.

"There is only one way to settle this!" declared Pippin. Sam looked slightly worried. "We have to have another pot of tea, this time we will put the tea in the cups first and then the milk!"

"Ingenious!" cried Merry, and then Pippin and Merry dashed off to the kitchen with the empty tea pot.

Jane frowned. "Are you alright, dear girl?" asked Bilbo kindly.

"Oh. Mm. Yes," she answered.

Then she heard the voice. It wasn't like fan fiction, fan fiction had a friendly sort of voice, neither male nor female, but relatively harmless sounding. This voice was low, it was foreign sounding, it was deep and gravelly, it was dangerous.

**Jane. Jane. I can take you home, I can take you back to your friends and family...**

Jane's eyes shot open wide and she looked at Frodo, her eyes sliding down his neck to the chain that held the One Ring. It was Sauron, talking to her.

**All you have to do is take me, I will give you everything you want...**

Jane started to panic.

* * *

_**The Caster Sugar Land a.k.a. The Realm of fan fiction**_

Poor Lesley Dyson was trapped in the Caster Sugar Land for the next year. Fan fiction was really cracking down on crime and living up to it's new image of being hard. Lesley sniffed, she didn't deserve this. She loved fan fiction, quite openly, to the shame of her three teenage sons and the bemusement of her loving husband. She would never insult fan fiction. She was a good person, she always gave to charity, baked cookies for bake sales, did nothing but nice things. She had been repeating this as a mantra for the past few months, but to no avail. Lesley had been a eager contributor to fan fiction for many years now, in fact she was one of the more innovative writers. She had committed the sin of inventing male pregnancy and now she had to atone by being fan fiction's slave for a year.

And that was why an innocent forty-six year old from Kansas was sitting in a caster sugar igloo, chained to a computer. Fan fiction fancied itself a hard ass gangster.

Lesley was busy typing away. It was her job to keep Jane from doing anything stupid and killing herself. Fan fiction may have been insulted by Jane, but it had no mean or cruel streak and the threat of leaving her there to die had been an idle one. Mainly because that would have involved a lot of paper work which is rather hard for someone who is not corporeal. Lesley had been brought in to work for fan fiction after fan fiction had realised that throwing a human being into another dimension for a year needed a bit of looking after. So basically, Lesley was in Caster Sugar Land to make sure that Jane didn't get killed or do something drastic that changed the story. Lesley had to work increasingly harder each day to make Jane do what fan fiction wanted her to do. And finally, today, Lesley couldn't do anything, couldn't make her do anything.

"Fan fiction! Are you there?" Lesley cried.

**Yes, of course, weren't you listening? I am everywhere and nowhere**, answered fan fiction, rather petulantly. **Jane understood that,** it muttered.

"This is about Jane," Lesley said, looking into space. She hated talking to someone she couldn't see who, by all rights, didn't exist. Lesley wished that she had been thrown into Middle Earth with Boromir, instead of living in a sugary prison. Jane was completely wasting her time in M.E, and especially wasting it with Boromir. Lesley had first been quite excited and had thought she could vicariously experience it, but Jane had been very unreceptive to the thoughts that Lesley had written for her. Jane didn't even think Boromir was particularly handsome, wasn't at all attracted to him and merely condescended to think, once, that his eyes weren't repulsive.

Boromir, on the other hand, was much more responsive. At first, Lesley didn't think she was getting anywhere, this Boromir, the real Boromir, was a lot more gruff than she had expected him to be, and slightly misogynistic at first. Underneath the grumpy exterior there was a real softy, Lesley had realised, although he didn't show it and perhaps didn't realise it even, but Boromir was scared of women. He pretended to be stern with them because he didn't understand their reactions and so wanted to pretend he didn't care. And usually, this worked. Except of course with Jane, who had gotten under his skin. He was undeniably attracted to her. Lesley had noticed that Boromir was a lot harder to control, than she would have thought, he was very stubborn and had absolutely no intention of ever even complimenting Jane.

This was not the current problem though.

"I have lost all control over Jane," admitted Lesley. There was silence.

**What?** squeaked fan fiction. Lesley bit her nails and wiped her hair out of her face. Man, was she tired.

"She's an organic person, fan fiction, she exists in another dimension, she's real and even worse, she's effecting the story..." elaborates Lesley.

Fan fiction was really starting to worry now. Jane was incredibly difficult to control even at the beginning. Fan fiction had tried to put her in the Mark, he had decided to put her somewhere that was affected by the war, but somewhere where she wouldn't run into anyone too important or have a chance to effect things too much. But instead of Rohan, she had struggled, she has pushed and her spirit was much stronger even after everything that had happened to her, and she had ended up in a river in Endewaith. He had to recruit Lesley who had manipulated Boromir into getting lost and picking her up. Lesley had tried to offload Jane onto some peasants, using Boromir to pressure her, but Jane was having none of it. And every time Lesley slept, Jane seemed to get in danger, attacked by orcs, attacked by wild men, drowning in a river. Boromir had saved her each time, but Lesley had less and less to do with that each time.

Fan fiction was well worried. Fan fiction existed, obviously and it's stories were real, too, but in another dimension which was completely separate from the first and which had different rules. Fan fiction was beginning to worry that Jane will die. If Jane reached out and took the One Ring, it 

thought, would she be able to move from one dimension to another? Would she be able to pass on all the knowledge she knew to Sauron? Would Sauron be able to move from one world to the next?

"Why are you so worried?" asked Lesley, who recognised the silence as worrying. "It's just a story," she said dismissively.

**Ah, yes, dearest Miss Dyson, that is the thing,** said fan fiction, wearily. **It is just a story. In your dimension. You are just a story in the dimension of Middle Earth. But you're real in your own dimension. And there are many, many different dimensions and every time someone writes something they call fiction, they create a new dimension. Someone created your dimension once. You even have a name for your creator. And sometimes, yes, people managed to jump from dimension to dimension. It hurts a lot, as you recall. But it is possible." Fan fiction sighed, while Lesley took all this information in. "And I am the over-seer of what I call mirror dimensions, but I believe you call them parallel universes. Every time one person writes a slightly different version of whatever happened...it exists. Fan fiction. But of course, when you stop writing, it doesn't die, that would be cruel, it just keeps on going.**

"I don't really get what any of this has to do with Jane," said Lesley.

**No, no, I'm just rambling. Of course, because I put Jane into a different universe and asked you to write her into it, I have made her part of two universes and she can control her own actions. If she takes the One Ring, she may accidentally join your dimension and the dimension of Middle Earth,** explained fan fiction.

"But that would be great!" exclaimed Lesley, "Bring a little magic back to the world! Elves and hobbits and sexy men, oh, I'd love that!"

**Don't be ridiculous Lesley,** admonished fan fiction, rather severely, **The two dimensions aren't supposed to unite. They would merely explode and you would all die. And I would be in SUCH trouble, so much paperwork! It would be such a headache. No, if she takes the Ring, she will doom us all.**

Lesley gulped. _Please, Jane, be strong,_ she thought.

* * *

Of course Jane would be tempted. Most were, even Gandalf. Aragorn wasn't, but he's a bit special. Most Mary-Sues are too pure and selfless to even consider it. Neither nobility nor purity of heart saved Jane though.

She was merely sick of disembodied telling her what to do. She felt very hot and then very cold and constantly angry. How dare they? The bastards! Always trying to boss her about, trying to shove her about. She used all of her will power and brought herself back to the conversation around her.

"I like tea then milk," she said, with a considerably amount of effort. Bilbo smiled at her.

"Quite right. Ah, I see the young ones are back already, that was quick," he said.

The tea was poured, the milk went in last, Sam added sugar to his cup, Pippin scrunched up his nose at this, the tea was sipped, everyone ahh'd and the hobbits started arguing again about what was best. Jane laughed to herself.

"You're not saying much, Jane," said Merry, who had never really conversed with a Human Woman before and was wondering if they were boring her.

"Oh! It's um...I am not good at Westron. Want to," she said, trying to communicate with her big smile more than anything. They all smiled back at her for her efforts.

"I'll teach you!" offered Pippin. Frodo looked slightly worried at this.

"We'll all teach you," said Bilbo. Jane grinned at them. After Boromir pathetic attempts to teach her, she would be glad of teachers who were slightly more eager.

"Thank you! Boromir teach me little-" she began.

"Oh!" cried Merry, realising a way to interest the pretty young girl, "You'll be wanting to see Boromir! Of course, why didn't we think of that before!"

Oh no, thought Jane, who looked rather alarmed. I'm not sure if I can take seeing Boromir so soon...

"It's no problem at all!" said Pippin, who misunderstood the alarm on her face. "Merry and I will take you!"

Frodo, Sam and Bilbo sat back and relaxed on the balcony as Jane was frogmarched by Pippin and Merry off to go see Boromir.

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N.B. I'm sure I've insulted many many people with this chapter! Remember, that this is a work of fiction. It doesn't even represent my opinions! And I am very much of the Churchill way of thinking, i.e. I don't agree with your opinion, but I'll defend to the death your right to have it. Saying that, male pregnancy seems a bit weird. And if fan fiction's description of the way dimensions work is confusing, good! He was just rambling because he was worried.

Please review! I always like to know what people think of my strange writings. Boromir will appear in the next chapter, sweatier than usual!


	6. Chapter 5

**PLAIN JANE - chapter five**- a story in which stereotypes are destroyed

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Jane had only ever seen Boromir fighting uglier and sweatier creatures than he, in his very heavy gear, when it was dark. Never before had she seen him practicing the sword in just a shirt and leggings with another man, when he was clearly not aiming to kill the other man, merely disarm him. Instead of looking violent and aggressive, he looked skilful, masterful even. She could see the contours of his body, the muscles under his shirt...it was slightly distracting.

Pippin and Merry had taken her two hands in theirs and pulled her down winding steps, into a courtyard. Jane wondered where they were going, as they were obviously not taking her to one of the many rooms that Rivendell held, where else could Boromir be? She could barely remember entering Rivendell, she had been exhausted, her eyesight had been blurred and she'd leaned heavily on Boromir, who, as usual, was a pillar of strength. After a quick chat with an austere looking Elf, Boromir had been dragged away to the special council and a demure and calm looking female Elf had lead her to a bathroom where Jane had wept with happiness.

Wrenched from her reflection, Jane realised that they were climbing stairs down into the valley; they had left the Last Homely House and entering the gardens.

The valley was unnaturally quiet, only a gentle breeze rustling through the autumn leaves and the occasional chirrup of a bird could be heard. It seemed so strange, so secluded in this valley – but Jane remembered that Elrond had a magic ring that helped him control the weather in his little realm. Bloody useful really. It was like an extremely mild English summer; warm without being humid.

The two hobbits had dragged her down to the practice fields, where there lots of the Elves were perfecting their archery.

Elves, Jane had observed, were rather tall and serene looking. They were all very beautiful and had long very light blonde, platinum blonde even, hair. Jane knew from reading Tolkien's books that they were all thousands of years old and while they did not look old, neither did they look young; they looked wise but weary. She had not seen many close up, nor had an actual conversation with one yet, but she had not been in Rivendell for long and she had ten more months to live out in Middle Earth. They weren't very sexy though. Jane had been surprised at first, as fan fictions had always made the first born out to be the epitome of beauty – which they were – and unbelievably sexy. Usually all sorts of shenanigans were happening in Rivendell by the time the Mary Sue ended up there. These Elves looked disturbingly asexual. And Jane could hardly tell the difference between the sexes. Really, Tolkien was a bit of a weirdo, wasn't he? she thought. However, she envied them their perfect sight and strength, their skilled workmanship...The Last Homely House was amazing. She wished she knew more about architecture to understand it, but she could tell it was a masterpiece; intricate weavings of wood and metal, wide open spaces, every door knob and crevice carved with immense expertise and creativity. And yet it was never overbearing and heavy, austere or crowded, like a gothic building would be, nor over-busy like baroque architecture. If anything it was all lightness and openness and utterly relaxing.

Their fighting skills were next to none; these archers were certainly very skilled; the target was a couple hundred metres from the archers and the Elves hit the bull's eye every time. Their elegant but strong hands pulled their bow strings with graceful ease and their keen and sharp eyes and Jane watched them hypnotised until Pippin prodded her in the side and motioned her to look to the left.

Inside a large fence ring, two men were sparring. Silver gleamed and the sound of clashing swords and grunting. With a slight shock Jane realised that Boromir was one of the men! She barely recognised him- he'd shaved. He wasn't wearing his customary seven layers of clothing and his big furry jacket, only a light cotton shirt, leggings and his boots, even though it was slightly chilly. Jane felt embarrassed to notice that she could see that the top of his shirt was unbuttoned and the tiniest wisp of chest hair was peeking through; for some reason that seemed indecorous...or indecent.

"Who is other man?" asked Jane.

"That's Strider, or rather, Aragorn," said Merry. "He looks very grim, but he's actually quite nice."

Ooh, Aragorn, thought Jane. He was much lighter on his feet than Boromir, being of a lighter build, but Boromir was holding his own, Jane was proud to see. Jane had been looking forward to seeing Aragorn, but now she saw him she was slightly disappointed; he didn't look particularly kingly. He looked more like a tramp...a lithe strong and skilled swordsman, but definitely a tramp. Her heart sank a bit, and she wondered what he had looked like when Arwen Evenstar had fallen in love with him. He seemed, like Boromir, rather humourless although they were both obviously enjoying sparring with each other.

If they were in Gondor, mused Jane, women would probably be swooning and shrieking at the sight of two, rather sexy if slightly tramp-like men, attacking each other so physically, what with the sweating and the swords and the... Oh no, Jane thought, horrified, did I just refer to Boromir's sweating as sexy? That is just wrong, plain wrong.

With a twist of his wrist, Aragorn disarmed Boromir. It was so unexpected and sudden, Jane was rather impressed and so was Boromir, who laughed as Aragorn handed back his sword and a look passed between them. What was it? Jane wondered. Mutual respect? She hoped so.

It was strange seeing Boromir interacting with another man, camaraderie and all that. Although gruff and grudging with her, he seemed much more at ease with Aragorn, which for some reason, tugged at her insides. But before she had a chance to question the emotion tugging at her insides, Pippin and Merry shouted at Aragorn and Boromir and clambered over the fence to greet them.

"Well done Aragorn! Well done Boromir!" they cried, "That was very exciting!"

Aragorn smiled at them and offered them some words of advice with his low voice, as it seems the hobbits were eager to learn the sword (probably, Jane mused, because they knew they would need it on their quests) and Boromir eagerly volunteered to teach them.

"Soon, little ones, we will have you fighting like proper little warriors!" he said, ruffling their hair.

Jane was not expecting such affection between Boromir and the Hobbits. How long had she been sleeping? She had been very tired, she supposed. That little tugging and pulling of her insides sharpened considerably and she swallowed uneasily; what was that and why wouldn't it go away?

Boromir happened to look up at this point and locked eyes with Jane. His green eyes widened in shock.

"Oh! We completely forgot! Jane woke up and had tea with us and then said she wanted to see you -" Pippin explained, eagerly. For some reason, Jane wanted to deny a desire to see Boromir, but Pippin spoke so fast it took time for Jane to understand it and she didn't have the vocabulary to say what she wanted to say.

"-and so we brought her down here!" finished Merry.

For some reason, Jane felt almost shy. That was ridiculous! This was only Boromir, she knew Boromir. Sweaty, grumpy, arrogant Boromir. She felt determined not to appear like a silly swooning woman who completely lost her senses with approached with a man who had no high opinion of cleanliness.

"Greetings, Boromir," she said.

"Jane?" he said, looking gobsmacked, "You look so..."

Lovely?

Stunning?

Beautiful?

"Clean."

Aragorn looked slightly amused, but the hobbits looked at each other in confusion.

Jane felt all forms of reserve and shyness she had felt around the clean shaven and white shirt wearing Boromir drained away, as if through a sieve. What an adjective to choose! This was a man who was allegedly a lord of Gondor; where were his manners?

"Well!" she exclaimed. "Clean? Huh." She put her hands on her hips and glared at Boromir, who looked rather surprised at his choice of words. "You are not clean. Always not clean."

Boromir felt his blood heat up with anger. "I have been sparring with Aragorn!" he said, defensively, wondering why she should take such insult at his attempt at a compliment.

Jane merely raised her eyebrows, disdainfully at him. Then she looked over to Aragorn, who was now leaning against the fence looking pensively at Jane. He smiled at her and lowered his head in deference, and she did the same in turn.

"Greetings, Lady Jane," he said with his quiet voice.

"Lady?" she asked. "What this word mean?" she asked, looking at Boromir, their hot exchanged forgotten in her pursuit of knowledge.

"It's a word of respect that we give to the female sex," explained Aragorn, kindly. Jane just looked at him blankly, understanding less than half the words.

"She won't understand that, unfortunately," explained Boromir. He pointed at Aragorn and himself and said "Lord" and herself and a female Elf that was walking up to stand by Aragorn and said "Lady".

Ah, thought Jane. I know what they're on about. I can't believe I forgot that they're lords and ladies, with proper titles. One day Aragorn will be a king!

"Greetings, Lord Aragorn," she said with a smile.

The Elf lady who was lingering behind Aragorn smiled and repeated Lord Elrond's request to meet with Lady Jane, now that she had recovered from her journey. "If you would follow me," she said in a low melodious voice and serenely turned around and glided up the hill. Jane looked around at everyone confusedly until Boromir motioned that she should follow the Elf, then gulped and ran off behind the mysterious Elf.

How on earth had she not thought of this?

She had spent almost two months in the wilderness with Boromir and she KNEW they were going to end up in Rivendell and yet it had not even crossed her mind that she would have to explain herself to Elrond or Gandalf! Oh, was she in trouble. What was she supposed to say?

Hey there Elrond! I insulted a form of writing, which was very inconveniently personified, it burnt down my bedroom, I ended up in a strange place made of caster sugar and told that I would have to inhabit a book without getting myself killed for twelve months! Oh yeah, and you don't exist and I may or may not be imagining this. But I'm not crazy, I swear!

Honesty is usually the best policy, but in cases such as these, sometimes it's best avoided.

In the fan fictions that Jane had read, the heroine had either told the truth and been believed and even consulted on what to do during the war, or had told an elaborate lie. Being as this was real life, and not a fan fiction and more importantly, even if Jane was a good liar (which she was not) she didn't have the vocabulary to explain her situation. Even if she could, it was doubtful that they would believe her. And if they did believe her, they probably wouldn't like her that much, she was sure that her respectability would drop dramatically when she explained that in her world and in the 21st century, aristocracy were inbred and useless and that women had equal rights to men.

Jane was definitely leaning towards the school of thought that encouraged lying. But what to tell them? What would sound plausible?

They had almost reached the House now. Jane's legs ached considerably less than she would have thought after climbing up the hill, but they seemed very heavy with reluctance to talk to Arwen's father. What if he could see right through her? What if he punished her? Did they have dungeons in Rivendell?

Elrond was intrigued by Jane. She was taller than most humans he had seen that were not of the Dunedain, and had hazel eyes and dark blonde wavy hair, making her look like the offspring of one of the Rohirrim and one of the Haradrim. And yet Boromir had told her that she spoke neither of these people's languages.

He was conferring with Gandalf when Jane knocked on the door and entered the room.

Gazing at her, he could see what a difference a couple of days sleeping made. He'd examined her on arrival and could find nothing but a few blisters; Boromir had taken good care of her, despite his 

grumbles and she had needed no medical attention. Gone were the bags under her eyes, the mud on her face and she was wearing a light green dress instead of the strange rags and Boromir's spare tunic. She looked very nervous but Elrond noted intelligence in her eyes and much kindness.

"Greetings, child," he said.

"Greetings, Lord Elrond," she replied and looked hesitantly over at the wizard leaning on the door frame and surreptitiously lighting his pipe. "Greetings, Gandalf."

Elrond frowned at Gandalf and Gandalf blew out his pipe frustrated, his bushy eyebrows drawing together in exasperation. Jane watched this exchange amusedly; it seemed that Gandalf and Elrond got on each other's nerves.

"Welcome to Rivendell," Elrond began.

Elrond was a fascinating sight. He was tall like all other Elves, but rather human looking too. He looked very stern, but kind and very wise; his dark blue eyes were like pools of deep water and hinted at his other worldliness. His long dark hair was not very Elfish and his face was lined...but perhaps that wasn't so much to do with his age, maybe they were worry lines. He certainly gave off an aura of melancholy. Jane felt sorry for him; his wife had been raped by orcs and had to sail away to wherever the Elves came from, his daughter was giving up her mortality for a hairy ranger and his land was in constant danger.

"You do not speak any language I have heard," accused Gandalf. "And yet I am inclined to trust you," he relented.

Oh man, thought Jane. In all the fan fictions she had ever read, the girl, the heroine, the Mary Sue, could at least speak to the characters; it seemed most writers weren't aware of the language barrier between twenty-first century English speakers and third Age Middle Earth Westron speakers. She didn't mind that she couldn't sing like a lark, that she couldn't fight like an Amazonian warrior, that her time wandering the lands with Boromir had seen her on a hygiene level with the Captain of Gondor himself and that she couldn't glide about like an elegant deer. She would, however, really like to be able to converse with anyone other than Boromir without being immersed in confusion and panic. Why did they have to use such big words? Boromir patronising her with his baby talk was preferable.

"I don't understand," she whispered miserably. "Boromir please," she asked.

Elrond looked pensively at her despondent face with compassion and saw that she would be at ease if someone she trusted and knew was here to help her. Boromir, who he slightly disproved of, could understand her better than Elrond and Gandalf. So he sent for Boromir.

While they were waiting for him to arrive, Jane looked about the room they were in. It was obviously Elrond's study; it was lined with thick bookshelves, from floor to ceiling, meticulously filled with scrolls and books and papers and strange scientific objects. A balcony on the right side of the room looked down onto the valley, and also had a good view of the road into Rivendell, so Elrond could see all those who entered his domain. Handy, thought Jane.

On his desk lay a map, detailed with drawings of rivers and mountains and trees. It was of Middle Earth, Jane recognised it from reading the book, except that all the place names were in funny runes, so she couldn't read them, but she still understood it. She could see Mordor, to the East...and that was Gondor, that city there jutting up from the rocks was Minas Tirith, where Boromir lived and Osgiliath, which was by a river...she traced the parchment with her finger, muttering the names under her breath, Rohan and Edoras..., the Shire, where the Hobbits lived, Bree, which always made her think of cheese, and in the little valley there, was Rivendell.

"My Lord," said a deep voice. Jane jumped; Boromir had finally arrived. And she still had no idea what she was going to say to them!

"We thought it was fitting that you should be here when we inquired as to Jane's origins," explained Gandalf, who was watching Jane's worried face with interest.

"She has told me she comes from somewhere called Ing-land," said Boromir, stroking his beard, "But I confess I have never heard of this place. Perhaps it is a village in Rohan?"

"She certainly has the colouring for it," murmured Gandalf, "But then she would speak Rohirric and she does not." He addressed Jane, "What is Ing-land? A village like Bree?"

"Like Bree? No," said Jane, smiling. "Very big," she said.

"Like Rohan? Or Gondor?" asked Gandalf. Jane thought for a second. How big were these countries really? She looked again at the map, wishing there was a scale on it.

"No. Like Middle Earth," she said finally.

"I have never heard of such a place," said Elrond, looking at her intensely, as if trying to gauge whether she was lying or not.

"It's very far away," she said.

"And how did you get here?" asked Gandalf.

This was a tricky one.

"I don't know," she said, apologetically. "I wake up in river. I don't know where home is."

"And yet you have heard of Rohan, Gondor and even Rivendell," accused Elrond, slightly suspiciously. Jane could have smacked herself. Hadn't Jane Austen said that if a woman knew anything, she should conceal it? Well, in this case it was true; she shouldn't have looked at that stupid map and given herself away!

"Yes..." She thought about how she was going to explain they were names in stories where she was from. She bit her lip and looked up at Boromir, as if he would somehow miraculously have the answers. "Sauron," she said, "And Isildur and fighting..." She looked at Gandalf and Elrond, willing them to understand, "People know...they hear...people tell," she stopped and sighed. Then she thought of something and turned back to Boromir and prodded his chest; "White tree...Minas Tirith."

"Hmm, she seems to know these places from stories, perhaps even myths," mused Gandalf. "I like her," he announced, "she is harmless."

Boromir snorted.

"She is to stay here then?" he asked, hopefully. He couldn't think of any other option.

Elrond, who had been in a reverie, brought his sharp eyes up to Boromir's face. "No, she cannot stay here," he decided.

"Then where is she to go, my Lord?" he asked.

Jane wondered why they were talking about her like she wasn't there...and why Jane wasn't allowed to stay in Rivendell. Her plans of exploring the valley and eating tasty food and drinking tea and floating around in dresses and doing needlework with Arwen started evaporating and being replaced with horror; surely they wouldn't send her to the nearest human town? Glancing at the map, she saw it was Bree, oh no no no she did not want to go to Bree, what would she do there? Would she have to become a bar maid? A bar wench? Or a servant?

"Yes, where?" she cried.

"I'm afraid that she must go with you," Elrond said calmly, as if he had not just sent Jane to her death.

Go with Boromir? With the Fellowship? Jane's heart starting accelerating until she realised that she wasn't supposed to know where Boromir was going.

"Where is Boromir going?" she asked, tentatively, hoping they couldn't see through her.

"On a quest," replied Gandalf. "We will travel through Middle Earth to Mordor," he continued, his grey beard rustling.

Jane glanced at Mordor on the map and shuddered.

Jane knew she would never get as far as Mordor, but months of walking, sleeping on the ground, being attacked by goblins and balrogs and getting frostbite lay ahead of her, until the unthinkable happened and then there were battles to be fought. People dying and murdering and awful things like that.

Her lip wobbled and she asked to be excused ("Want to go, please, Lord Elrond") and she ran off back to her room. Boromir argued with Gandalf and Lord Elrond as respectfully as possible for half an hour and lost spectacularly ("If she can survive months on end with you, Boromir, then she can survive Mordor") and was told to accompany her to dinner in an hour.

When he eventually arrived at Jane's door, wearing Elvish finery and feeling quite out of place, Jane was not crying as he had feared, but very pale and solemn. It suited them both not to talk and keep to their thoughts.

Boromir and Jane were walking to the hall were Elrond promised there would be lots of food and hobbits. Jane felt the pain in her stomach that said, "FEED ME!" but the thought of food made her 

feel nauseous, and the thought of everything to come made her feel panicky. It was the same feeling she had felt as a teenager the night before an exam when she knew that she hadn't studied and was going to fail, but a thousand times worse.

She looked at Boromir, who was taking long strides and frowning. Jane had to walk twice as fast as him to keep up, but she didn't dare ask him to slow down as he looked in a right mood. He had been angrier and grumpier than usual ever since Elrond had decreed she couldn't stay in Rivendell and had to go with the Fellowship. He had demanded to know why she had to accompany them on such a dangerous mission, why she should have to leave somewhere safe? But Elrond had just looked him mysteriously and said that it would be so. Respect to Elrond dictated that Boromir couldn't dispute his answer (which seemed about as mature as going "Just because!").

Jane felt horribly unwanted, like a big burden that no one wanted to carry. Elrond clearly didn't want someone he couldn't fully trust, a little human girl, hanging around his precious Rivendell when he had bigger fish to fry and Boromir didn't want to have to drag Jane back across Middle Earth and look after her all over again. Jane felt like crying and would have if Boromir had not been there and if the smell drifting over to her from the hall did not smell heavenly.

In the hall Jane sat down in the hall on the table next to Boromir and across from Merry and Pippin. It seemed a very casual affair, everyone was coming and going, changing from table to table, Elves chattering in their own language and Common, laughing and pouring drink. It was fascinating to watch them, their light eyes shining and their skin glowing, wearing the strange medieval clothing. Jane looked around her, almost in a trance, noting the beauty and effervescence of the Elves. Then she saw Aragorn and waved at him. He smiled and waved back; what a friendly tramp, she thought. The person sitting next to him turned to see who Aragorn was waving at and Jane's eyes widened; it was Arwen!

Arwen definitely was her father's daughter; long luxurious dark hair framed a pale heart shaped face. She had delicate symmetrical features; high cheekbones, a high forehead, soft lips, cobalt eyes and pearly skin. She was the most beautiful person Jane had ever seen but her beauty was more than skin deep; Jane instinctively knew that Arwen was the loveliest person she would ever meet. Jane smiled at her and turned to Boromir.

"Who is she?" she asked (as she had to pretend she didn't know much about these people). Boromir sighed inwardly. They were at a meal of the most delicious food he had ever had in his life and he had spent many months living of maggoty biscuits and water and Jane was asking questions. He was chewing when she surreptitiously pointed at Arwen and swallowed to speak.

"That is the Lady Arwen, Lord Elrond's daughter. She is the most beautiful lady in Middle Earth; her people call her the Evenstar," he explained and then went back to his meal. Jane was surprised that he wasn't more captivated at her beauty and looked at him with confusion.

An understatement; Boromir wasn't keen on Elves. Dwarves he had met before and had liked, he understood their motives, their likes and loves and their outlook so it was not as if he only liked his own race. They were also good drinkers and it's nice to have something to bond over. Elves were big drinkers too, but they could easily out drink Boromir and he would never get rat arsed with them 

because who knows what they would do to him while he was out of it. Possible braid his hair. Boromir shuddered; it didn't bare thinking about.

When Jane had eaten her fill, she decided to wander out towards the gardens. The light was fading and she fancied seeing the sunset, perhaps it would make her feel less like crying and give her peace of mind. So she got up, said goodbye to the hobbits and Boromir, who were drinking ale together and moseyed off to the balcony and down the steps. She took her thin slippers off and padded over the soft grass, enjoying the lovely smell of the gardens. Jane couldn't see the sunset so she wandered through the little forest a kind of pretty wilderness that led down towards the valley.

It was such a calming place. Her breathing slowed and became deeper; she started smiling and humming without realising it. The gentles chirping of the grasshoppers and the slight breeze rustling the leaves were the only sounds she could hear. She swung her arms back and forth as she walked down the valley, gradually picking up speed until she was running, laughing out loud with joy at the freedom she had. She was near the bottom when she heard a sudden SNAP behind her; she twisted and turned round, remembering suddenly she was in a very dangerous world, who was it, what was it that was behind her?! But she slipped and grabbed onto the nearest tree; which was Boromir.

"Boromir!" she hissed. For some reason shouting in Rivendell's twilight seemed like irreverence. She thumped him on the chest and he looked annoyed, as usual. "Why you here?" she demanded, angry that he had followed her and that he had probably seen her skipping down the hill like a silly school girl.

"It is unsafe for you to walk at night, Jane," he explained, looking stern. She sighed.

"In Rivendell?" she said exasperatedly. Didn't he know Elrond had a magic ring that protected the borders, as well as countless elves who were thousands of years old looking after the place?

"Yes," he said simply. Boromir didn't trust the elves; their hair was too long and girly for him to take them too seriously as proper warriors. They didn't sweat and they were too clean. "I will come with you on your walk," he said, chivalrously, "In case you see a bunny rabbit." He tapped his sheathed sword and smirked.

Jane glared at him. Why was it that Boromir chose to be chivalrous only when she didn't want him to act like a gentleman? However, Boromir was not to be deterred and so she shrugged and continued walking down the hill. His presence put a dampener on her spirits though and she deeply resented him mothering her.

Looking into the distance, she realised that now that she could see through the trees, the sun had already set; she had missed it! She sighed and looked out at the hills and the bridge and the two people kissing on the bridge and the river...hold up, she thought. She stopped walking and Boromir bumped into her and she tripped over her dress. He pulled her up, but before he could admonish her, she started pulling him up the hill.

"I thought you wanted to see the sunrise?" he protested, unused to being pulled about by a female and slightly confused at her sudden change of mind.

Jane shh'd him. She couldn't believe that she had glimpsed Arwen and Aragorn kissing and was completely mortified and knew that she had to make sure Boromir didn't know of their relationship. It was a big secret, she knew, and only trouble could come of Boromir discovering it.

"I am tired," she said, half running up the hill. Boromir stared after her. The girl was completely mad, first she skipped down the hill, laughing and being merry, then as soon as he made his presence known, she had turned sour and was running up a hill to get away from him, because she was tired?! In a deep part of his stomach, something clenched at the thought of her laughing and smiling with the hobbits and the others and only being annoyed and upset every time their paths cross. Never before, had it mattered whether or not a woman liked him or not, never before had it mattered that anyone enjoyed his company. Not for the first or the last time, did he wish for Faramir's counsel, or at least someone to talk to about these.

"Goodnight!" she shouted at him and ran up the staircase. Boromir frowned at her retreating figure. He suddenly felt very jealous; who had taught her that word? He was supposed to be her teacher! Confused and worried, Boromir trudged off to bed.

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**Well! I'm tragically behind with my updates, but this is awfully long, so hopefully that makes up for it. I've tried to reply to all your reviews, but my computer keeps crashing, so if it my replies haven't reached, then I'm ever so sorry and you'll just have to review again complaining about my rudeness ;)**

**I hope you like it!**


	7. Chapter 6

**PLAIN JANE - CHAPTER SIX**

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_A story in which stereotypes are laughed at and where our anti-heroine is put through stress and all sorts of odd situations_

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Jane slept fitfully. She dreamt of a dark forest, old and uninviting, lit dimly by starlight and a raging river that roared and roared, a waterfall and a lifeless body. When she awoke she was covered in sweat and shaky, but couldn't remember what the dream had about, but an ominous feeling remained; she felt slightly sick. So she got out of bed and had another bath, smothered herself in the sweet lotions and spent a happy two hours doing her toilette. She was so happy to be able to use soap, the sweetest smelling and most amazing soap she had ever seen in her life! Perhaps, she thought, lathering herself happily with the stuff in the bath, she should go give Boromir some soap...the idea of bursting into Boromir's room when he was in the bath was strangely tempting. Shut up, brain! She chastised herself. Boromir naked was a horrible thought.

Then she had a look at her wardrobe, which had been filled with what Jane suspected was the other lady elves' cast-offs, but she wasn't complaining. Soft linens, rich velvets, some other textures she did not recognise but were soft and smooth and smelled wonderful and oh the colours. Red wine, azure, pale green, lightest pink, faded gold, and ivory white. Of course they were in the strangest styles, a strange combination of Grecian and Renaissance flowing free, simple and uncomplicated. Jane felt like a ladyeee. She twirled about in her various dresses, trying them on, for five whole minutes, acting more her shoe size than her actual age.

Practically, however, they were awful. She felt comfortable in them (elves like comfort) and at ease, but she kept tripping over the long hems, or else worrying she would trip over the long hems, and the long sleeves kept flapping about and distracting her. She was not happy with the lack of underwear but did her best not to think about it.

She desperately missed her jeans.

She picked out the dark red wine coloured dress and pulled it on, twirled about and had a look in the looking glass (definitely not a mirror, it was a looking glass). She sat in her room, on her bed for half an hour wondering what to do and trying to dry her long hair with a towel. She felt utterly sick with worry and was trembling slightly.

Jane had not forgotten that Elrond had decided that instead of frolicking around Rivendell for the rest of her time here, she was to accompany the Fellowship. Was she a 10th walker? She wasn't exactly sure that the other males would want her at all; after all, she was a woman, barely a step up from the Hobbits. Get a grip, Jane, you're a twenty-first century independent woman, you are a feminist, not a damsel in distress! Think Lara Croft, or Madonna or even Becky Sharp, rather than a soppy Victorian wimp! Girl Power! I may be clumsy and clueless about how things work here, but I'm smart, I learn easily and I've resisted the One Ring AND spent two whole months with Boromir; I am clearly stronger than I appear. It's not going to be a piece of cake, or even a walk in the park-more like a half suicidal mission where every conceivable villain in Middle Earth hurls itself at us and tries to kill us-

Stop it, she told herself. I need to do something. That will make me feel better.

So she wandered around Rivendell until she found an elf.

"Greetings!" she said. The Elf stopped and looked at her.

"You must be Jane," he said. Jane nodded and looked at him properly; was he someone special? He had long golden hair, a clever noble face, but seemed slightly solemn. Something about the expression of his eyes, however, made her think twice about his solemnity. His face was so perfect that he looked like he had been carved from marble; he didn't appear to have pores at all! How weird!

"Where is Aragorn?" she asked. The Elf looked at her, askance.

"Why do you ask?" he inquired, folding his arms and looking at her patronisingly.

Oh no, thought Jane. I've found the Boromir of the Elves.

"I want to speak with him," she said carefully. The elf regarded her for a full minute.

"Why?" he asked, at length.

"Because..." Jane thought about this, why did she want to speak to Aragorn? Mainly to ask him to teach her the sword (it wasn't "teach her fencing", these swords were big and heavy and dangerous, so it was "teach her the sword", said seriously and with reverence) and ask general things about where they were going, and basically meet the future king and get him on her side and not Boromir's. However, she had no idea how to say all that. "Because!"

The Elf gazed at her. She glared back. What on earth was wrong with this elf? He hadn't so much as batted an eyelash for two minutes. She knew that Elves could go to sleep with their eyes open, but she doubted they could sleep standing up. She waved her hand in front of his face. He remained impassive.

"You know not where is Aragorn," she said, feeling grumpy and like committing an act of violence.

"I do know where Aragorn is," said the Elf, mysteriously and annoyingly. Jane narrowed her eyes. And waited. She crossed her arms and if she had been wearing a wristwatch, she would have tapped it.

"Where...is...Aragorn?" she asked, on the point of losing her temper.

The elf raised his left eyebrow. "He is in a meeting with Elrond."

"When is meeting finished?" asked Jane, acutely aware of her bad Westron.

The Elf gave her the once over and smiled. "Not for many hours, Jane."

Jane's shoulders slumped in defeat. The elf made to walk on. "No! Please, tell me where is Gandalf?" she cried, desperately.

"Why do you ask?" inquired the elf. Jane's nostrils flared and she bit her lip. She struggled to compose herself, she was livid.

"Please," she said, "Please."

The elf relented and replied, "He is in a meeting with Elrond and Aragorn."

A little part of Jane died inside.

"Who is not in the meeting, please?" she asked.

"I believe that Legolas is on the shooting ranges," he said. After a long, long and tiresome conversation about what a shooting range was, complete with lots of hand gestures, Jane turned to go.

"Oh!" she said, "What your name?" The elf smiled and replied;

"Glorfindel, Lady Jane."

Jane hmm'd at him, thanked him and walked away. Her anger at the impossible elf had evaporated her dread of leaving with the fellowship, and the idea of spending months on end with Boromir paled in comparison with the idea of having another conversation with Glorfindel.

She didn't know much about Glorfindel, he had a lovely name, but from meeting him she discerned he had a funny sense of humour. And not "funny "as in"funny ha ha". She vaguely remembered something about him defeating a Balrog a couple of thousands of years ago and coming back from the dead, but things like that weren't so weird and amazing and freaky after what she'd been through. Although the land of Caster Sugar seemed a distant memory now.

At the shooting ranges, a lone archer was practising; this must be him, thought Jane.

Jane stood and watched him in awe. He cut an impressive figure.

Legolas has been portrayed in fan fiction in a variety of different and contradicting ways, mainly in forms that Tolkien had never even subtly hinted at and secondly would never have approved of. There was the highly sexual Legolas, who was sensitive, but strong and sexy and romantic. Jane had never known where this Legolas had appeared from; in the books Legolas had been more interested in trees than the opposite sex and had spent his time with Gimli. Some very odd and possibly mental people had linked him romantically with the dwarf, but Jane had no idea how that would work, physically and otherwise. Their friendship was unusual enough, but a relationship would be icky. Other Legolas incarnations had included hugely spoilt princeling, naive and young wood elf, odd emo loner etc. Jane watched Legolas gracefully shooting arrows that sailed through the air almost weightlessly, wondering which Legolas he would be.

"How long do you plan on observing me, Lady Jane?" he called, rhetorically. Jane jumped; she was almost a hundred metres behind him, how could he possibly have known she was there? He turned around. "I apologise, my lady, for startling you," he said.

Jane, of course, didn't fully understand all the words he was saying, but she understood his tone and followed his meaning, and took it for an invitation to move forward to meet him.

"Greetings, Lord Legolas," she said.

"Just Legolas," he corrected. Jane frowned worriedly; what on earth did that mean? "Just"? She had never heard of it before, oh no, did it mean Prince? After all, he was a prince of Mirkwood and perhaps, as a human mortal civilian she should address him as such. Had she offended him? They seemed very particular about their titles in this place. Her face began to heat up.

"Sorry, Just Legolas," she said, panicked.

Legolas burst into the most joyous, lovely sounding laughter. His whole body shook with his mirth and his previously serious face shone like a beacon. Jane wasn't too impressed, was he mocking her pronunciation? Humiliation burned her.

"No, no, dearest," said Legolas, seeing her frown and reaching out to touch her shoulder. "No Lord, Lady Jane, just means, only, without Lord," he simplified.

"Oh," said Jane. "Ohhhhhh!" she said with meaning, realising her mistake. She covered her face with her mouth and began to giggle. "Just Legolas?!" she repeated, laughing, which only set Legolas off again. For a few minutes they laughed at each other and themselves and leaned on each other, that when they finally stopped, and stood beaming at each other, Jane had completely forgotten what she had come to see Legolas for. "Legolas," she began, "I..." hmm, she thought, how to phrase this? "I like to know the sword, please?"

She frowned, knowing she hadn't quite said that properly, but unsure of how to. She looked beseechingly up at Legolas. "Maybe, please, you teach me?"

Legolas looked amused and taken aback. "My Lady Jane-" he started.

"Just Jane," interrupted Jane with a twinkle.

He smiled back. "Jane, I am very flattered," noticing Jane's raised eyebrows at the unfamiliar word; he changed his tack, "thank you, Jane. But, I am a better archer than a swordsman. Maybe you could ask Aragorn, or Boromir?"

"Boromir is busy," decided Jane, "And Aragorn is important." She looked up at him with her best puppy dog eyed look. "Please?"

"Boromir is not busy," came a voice from behind her, scaring her so severely at its close proximity that she jumped again and turned round.

"Boromir!" she breathed, terrified, her hand over her heart, wondering how to tell him that he had almost given her a heart attack in Westron.

"If you want to learn the sword, Jane, then I shall teach you. Greetings, Legolas, is she bothering you?" asked Boromir, suddenly shifting his gaze very suddenly from Jane to Legolas.

"Not at all, Boromir, Jane and I are great friends already," replied Legolas, smiling down at Jane, who returned the smile. She loved Legolas, he was the best! Boromir was such a bore, asking her new best friend if she was bothering him! She wasn't a naughty four year old! Why did he always act as if she was some sort of delinquent, always bothering other people, or annoying him? Sometimes she felt like such an unwanted burden.

Legolas was elven kind and therefore much more sensitive to the subtle nuances and the immediate change in atmosphere the second Jane became aware of the Gondorian Man's presence. He planned to tease his new friend about Boromir later. Boromir, however, was not so amused by the situation, he was not keen on the effeminate Elf being friends with his Jane, but he had been well trained in courtly ways and quite effectively hid his dislike for their new friendship from Jane, at least.

Walking up to Jane and Legolas and seeing them laughing with each other had caused a twinge in his stomach that he had never felt before, but had recognised as jealously. He had never been jealous of anyone or anything in his life before! There was no rivalry with his brother, or between him and his friends, it was simply not in his nature; he had always been too generous to experience this horrible feeling before. It was unnerving, for the first time in his life, he felt unsure of himself, also a new experience.

"Perhaps Legolas can teach you archery?" asked Boromir.

"I would love to teach you archery, Jane," said Legolas warmly.

"No thank you," said Jane. Legolas and Boromir looked surprised at her dismissal of Legolas' offer. After all, he was the prince of Mirkwood and an excellent archer. She saw their surprised faces and realised she had slightly affronted her new best friend. "Oh no Legolas! I think you are a good teacher and archer, but I know archery," she explained.

She had not even realised it would might be practised here, after all, Boromir didn't carry a bow and once she got to Rivendell she had not planned on doing anything that required exertion, which included all means of warfare. Jane was actually quite good at archery, something she had never thought would be useful or even vaguely fashionable, but due to a childhood obsession with Robin Hood, had learnt when she was about eight. Not being a particularly sporty person, she had taken it up at high school as it involved hardly any movement and got her out of hockey. She had excelled at it and university (mainly because she spent her nights playing darts in the pub and so perfected her aim). However, she was hideously ashamed of her sometime hobby; it was even more embarrassing than admitting that she loved fan fiction and so she had hid it from most of her friends and even her parents. Her childhood obsession with Robin Hood had dissipated, but she continued to practise until she left university, as it was something that came to her quite easily and therefore was quite confident about. Jane had never really taken it seriously though and had never got in the habit of talking about the (only) sport she practised, as she didn't really think archery was something that anyone would relate to over a gin and tonic in the pub. She could tell that Legolas was much better at it than her. If she were more competitive, then this would spur her on to practice and improve, but Jane wasn't; she reasoned that he had much better senses and was much older than her and she was as good as she could be (despite the lack of practice since she graduated university six months ago).

Most heroines (and Mary-Sues) in fan fictions have skills and talents. Some show off and are annoyingly perfect in practically every way. Their over-dramatic displays of their abilities make them endearing to the opposite sex, who are instantly wowed and amazed by their unrealistic talents, instead of despising them as self-obsessed drama-queens who have unsympathetic qualities (which is what would happen in reality). Misery, bitching and sharing horrible experiences are far more conducive to bonding than being stunned by someone's soprano voice. Most of the time, of course, a Mary-Sue's skills and talents are plot devices and are linked to their "destinies".

Jane didn't believe in destiny and therefore didn't have one.

It would, of course, be unfair to deny Jane any talents whatsoever. Jane Thomas is a bright young woman, a university graduate and more importantly, a laugh. She is clumsy, clueless about her surroundings and thoughtless. The simple things in life make her happy, good plentiful food, soap, friends and a nice comfy bed. She can be pretty grumpy, as Boromir has found out, but usually sees the funny side of things. She has hay fever, faint freckles on her nose when its sunny and excellent organisational skills (thanks to her job as a PA). She is slightly paranoid, can't sing to save herself, a keen horsewoman and cook and has a very good talent for languages. However, she is unfailingly modest, very generous and quite kind. She likes tea more than oxygen and would quite like to be a Hobbit because of their eating habits but is glad she isn't because of the hairy feet.

Boromir was very surprised, but Legolas was delighted; a fellow archer!

"Let us see you!" he asked and handed her his beloved bow, which was quite an honour, Jane tried to refuse it, but couldn't without being rude, and then strode over to the target to remove his arrows. Jane looked aggrieved. She hated doing anything which would put her in the way of any sort of critique. She looked over the thing in her hands, smoothing it over.

Even though she was a pretty indifferent archer, she had to agree this was a beautiful bow, obviously well looked after and inscribed with what looked like Anglo-Saxon runes. Jane had never seen any writing since she had been in Middle Earth and she had dearly missed being able to read. She traced the runes with her fingers with a bit of sadness and then reluctantly walked over to where Legolas had been standing and picked up one of his arrows from his quiver; she could tell that he had made the arrow himself; it was so beautiful and simple. First thing first, she thought, and tied her ridiculously long but wonderfully showy sleeves behind her neck. She took up the archery stance, her right leg slightly behind her front and nocked the arrow, glancing over at Legolas and Boromir.

She was suddenly acutely aware that she hadn't so much as thought about archery for over half a year and was now going to performing to the famously accurate prince of Mirkwood and the captain of Gondor. She glanced at the target; it was an awfully long way away; damn Legolas' perfect eyesight! She squinted a bit, trying to see the bull's eye.

"If you like, Jane, we can move the target closer," casually suggested Legolas, smiling kindly at her. Jane blushed in embarrassment. Legolas' attempt at kindness only made her more determined to do well and look less like the fool she felt.

"No thank you, Legolas," she answered, tersely. She lifted her bow, careful to keep her arm locked and her elbow where it should be and narrowed her eyes to aim. Please, please, she prayed, don't let me embarrass myself in front of them.

She breathed in and released the arrow.

Please please please, she thought, ohhhhh!

The arrow whooshed through the air and hit the target with a satisfying thunk. However, Jane's eyesight was not good enough to tell where it had gone, so she looked at the two males to her left hopefully.

Legolas was smiling at her (but then he was always smiling so Jane thought that it was indicative of nothing) and Boromir was looking pensively at the target.

She handed the bow back to Legolas and walked towards the target, painfully conscious of her muscles aching in her right arm; Legolas' bow had been awfully taut and had required all her strength to pull it back. She was shockingly out of practise and although her muscles remembered what to do, they had torn slightly in the act. Although Legolas was a skinny blonde Elf, he was clearly made of steel.

Jane resisted the urge to massage her muscles and instead concentrated on looking at the target.

Her arrow was two inches away from the bull's eye.

"Yes!" she said in English. "Woooo!" and raised her arms in the air in triumph.

Legolas and Boromir had followed her and both smiled at her unconscious and childish display of happiness. Legolas pulled his arrow out from the target and congratulated Jane.

"I will make you a bow," he declared and then strode off into the woods, not looking back once and quickly disappearing out of sight.

Boromir and Jane looked at each other. "Elves are...hmm," she said.

"Yes," agreed Boromir fervently.

Boromir took her to see Gimli. Gimli was more his type of person; consummate warrior, plain speaker, nice big beard. At the council, Boromir had got the impression that Legolas didn't particularly like him, and Boromir had uneasy feelings towards Aragorn, he wasn't too sure if he trusted Mithandir, although Faramir did, and although he was very fond of all the hobbits, they were like children. And so, he had decided that he was going to need some manly company on this quest and who better than the hairy little squat dwarf.

Jane was quickly charmed by Gimli.

"Gimli, son of Gloin, at your service!" he declared cheerfully.

"Jane...not son of..." she answered, shakily. "What is girl son called?" she asked Boromir.

"Daughter," he answered, with a smirk.

"Ah, ok, Jane daughter of John, at your service," replied Jane with a grin. Gimli roared with laughter.

"She's a cracker, Boromir!" he announced, "And you, lassie, are joining us on our quest through Middle Earth?"

Jane understood the gist of what Gimli had asked; "Yes," she said sadly. She could not be too upbeat about trekking across the wilderness and gaining all sorts of blisters, climbing up a mountain and inside a mine and being attacked by uruk-hai and...she shuddered.

"Don't worry, lassie, we'll take good care of you. It'll be a nice change having a girl on a quest with us, though I don't rightly see why Elrond would think it was a good idea for you to accompany us-" at this, Gimli looked up at Boromir's frowning face.

Jane felt some tension between them all; obviously Boromir was not keen on her accompanying them on their trip. Feeling a bit awkward, she decided to lighten the mood.

"Boromir is to teach me the sword," she said with a smile. Gimli perked up immediately.

"Oh, yes? The sword, eh? Well that's a mighty fine instrument-" he said.

"Instrument?" Boromir interrupted, with mock insult. "It's a weapon, dwarf! The noblest weapon of all," he told them.

"I like archery best," said Jane, smiling at the dwarf. "It's the more fast," she justified, when they looked at her with disbelief.

"It's alright...for an elf," muttered Gimli. Boromir grunted in agreement.

Jane had forgotten that Gimli and Legolas were not the best of friends yet and decided to stay neutral; she would not like to get on the wrong side of either the elf or the dwarf.

"What weapon you like, Gimli?" asked Jane. She, of course, knew the answer, but not the name and it was always best to feign ignorance in these areas to gain new vocabulary.

"Dwarves prefer to use axes, lass," Gimli told her, reaching into his belt and taking out his favourite axe and letting Jane have a little look at it. She ooh'd appropriately. Gimli passed it to her and she held it in her hands and was surprised at how heavy it was; despite his small stature, Gimli was obviously rather strong and a damned good warrior. Jane held the strange metal axe in her hands and wondered how many orcs and goblins had met their end at its sharp edge.

Jane had held Legolas' weapon earlier and had only felt admiration for its craftsmanship, it was so light and exquisite that she had not fully realised that it was meant to be used to kill. But Gimli's cruder and heavier weapon sat in her hands with resonance and gravitas; she could imagine Gimli on a battlefield, sweating and bleeding and fighting for his life. She felt her heart sink; that would be her soon.

"Jane?" asked Boromir, worriedly.

"I am OK," she said quickly, handing back the axe.

"OK?" asked Boromir, confused.

"Yes. Oh, uh, I am fine," she reiterated. "It is...axe is for kill," she tried to explain. Gimli looked up at her with kind but worldly eyes.

"Aye, it is, lassie," he said softly. "Have you not seen a weapon before?" he asked.

Jane bit her lip. How was she to explain that there had been no big wars, not big battles that had affected her, in her lifetime? That although her world was full of wars, that her country was at war even now, that she was so desensitised to the idea of war that when actually confronted with a weapon that wasn't in a museum or in a film that she felt shocked and uneasy?

"Yes and no," she said, pensively, "In my land, there are no wars for maybe sixty years," she explained. Gimli and Boromir looked at her with surprise. "It is very far away," she elaborated.

"No wars," repeated Boromir. He could not even conceive of a place that was not continuously fighting against evil; however much he hoped that one day that Gondor would be such a place. He shook these thoughts away. "Well, Jane, if I am to teach you the sword, then you must get some appropriate clothes," he said.

"Huh?" said Jane.

"You cannot learn to fight in a sword in a dress, lassie," pointed out Gimli.

"Oh," said Jane. She had not thought about that, but yes, she would definitely need some sort of trousers or leggings. She sighed, why was she stuck with Boromir teaching her the sword?

"Go find some appropriate clothing and meet me here in an hour," commanded Boromir. Jane frowned at him and said goodbye to Gimli, then walked back up the hill to Elrond's house. She had a bad feeling about this.

Twenty minutes later, she bumped into Glorfindel.

"Did you find Legolas, Jane?" he asked, smiling smugly.

"Yes, thank you," she replied, feeling rather suspicious. "And Gimli and Boromir. He is to teach me the sword," she told him.

Glorfindel raised one absolutely perfect eyebrow. "Gimli is going to teach you the sword?" he asked.

"No," she said, fighting the urge to call him stupid. "Boromir," she corrected him.

"Ah," said Glorfindel, knowingly.

"What?" said Jane grumpily. Glorfindel grinned at her. She sighed. "Can I have your trousers?" she asked.

"What!" asked Glorfindel, genuinely surprised for the first time in millennia.

"Please? I need...appropriate clothing...Boromir say that," she told him. Glorfindel blinked at her.

"You are the most unusual person I have ever met," he told her. "Come with me," he said and led her along a passage she had never been along before, Jane wondering what an "unusual person" was.

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**_N.B. Ah, my beloved readers. Don't forsake me because of my sporadic postings! And please review and give me your feedback, ideas, suggestions, criticisms, critiques, random thoughts, anything. I hunger for your reviews. It not only makes me very happy, but it makes my writing better. So...what do you think?_**


	8. Chapter 7

**PLAIN JANE IN THIRTEEN CHAPTERS**

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Chapter the Seventh

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_In which Boromir elicits the most reader sympathy and Jane is mainly oblivious._

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Jane had read hundreds of fan fictions. Mainly romance ones...about Legolas or Boromir or Eomer (never Gimli though, she made that mistake once and never again) and the female, the lady, was not always from the modern twenty-first century world. Sometimes they were Gondorian servants who fell in love with their lords, or elves, or noblewomen.

If they were from the twenty-first century, the girl was often brash, crude and overtly sexual and sometimes Jane wondered why her chosen man/elf/ent (it could happen...) was not repulsed. But therein lies the mystery of romance; one man's trash is another man's treasure.

Often the traveller into this other dimension had a magic power, or supernatural strength or a destiny. Or, more realistically, a lesson to learn; she was transformed through her ordeal from girl to woman, emerging at the end, complete with future husband, adoring sidekicks and shiny hair.

Jane had shiny hair, true, but that was because of the wonderful shampoo that the Elves gave her.

Glorfindel led her to a store room full of folded clothes and handed her a pair of leggings and a faded tunic. She was slightly gutted that she didn't get to go into his bedroom and look at his stuff, but then Elves were very personal and private creatures, she reasoned. Glorfindel gazed at her while she inspected the clothes, which were soft, flexible, durable and smelled of roses.

"I hear you are to go on the quest with the Fellowship," said Glorfindel, his face pensive. Jane hummed in affirmative. "However, you are not a shield maiden," he continued.

"What a shield maiden?" asked Jane.

"You do not know the sword," explained Glorfindel. He bent down to a low shelf and picked up a pair of boots and a brown leather belt and handed them to her. "You have other skills?"

"Um, what a skill?" asked Jane.

"Things you can do," clarified the elf.

"Oh, um. Well, archery. "

"You are skilled at the bow," asked Glorfindel, surprised.

"Legolas say is he make me a bow," answered Jane. She looked at Glorfindel. "Why am I go on quest with Boromir? You know?"

This question was first and foremost on her mind. Was there a particular reason that Elrond didn't want her around? He was a very intuitive elf and must have realised she meant no harm and didn't have the capacity to cause any harm anyway. Was it merely he didn't want to put up with her? But surely he knew she would just be a burden on the Fellowship; that she would just drag them down? What was the elf thinking?

"I thought perhaps you had a special skill, a talent, that you would be a warrior or a healer, but you seem quite ordinary, in that respect at least," said Glorfindel. Jane stared at him blankly.

"Yes or no?"

"No."

"Bye bye Glorfindel," said Jane and she skipped out of the room. The elf was very odd and used words she had never heard before. He did have a special aura about him though; he seemed young but old at the same time. Jane vaguely remembered from the books that he had died in Gondolin and then come back again, a vaguely Christ like rebirth. Still, she thought, that's got to mess with your head a bit, no wonder he looks a bit mental.

It was certainly much easier to move about in the leggings, but she felt a lot more self conscious in them, even though the tunic was so long it reached her knees. She felt a little bit like how she imagined an elf would, like she could skip about the woods all day long and climb trees; after the heavy, draping dresses the leggings were very light. She tied her hair up and ran along to meet with Boromir.

Boromir was waiting for her with an extra sword which he handed to her as a way of greeting instead of his usual grunt. Jane made a face at how heavy it was, but was told she would get used to the weight by Boromir and it was only a training sword used for children, anyway.

Boromir was a Captain of Gondor and had trained hundreds, maybe thousands of men; this should have been a walk in the park for him. However, he felt very self conscious for some reason, maybe it was because he had never taught a woman before. "No, Jane," he corrected, "Clasp your fingers like this," and he wrapped his hand around Jane's much smaller one and his heart skipped a beat. Completely horrified and for want of a better phrase, freaked out, he stepped quickly away from her and gruffly said, "I think we'll teach you to parry now."

It must be said that if you get to Boromir's age without falling in love, it is impressive. It also must be said that if you fall in love at Boromir's age without any prior experience then you will be unbelievably scared of this new and unlooked for feeling and repress it as hard as you can. If this feeling had been sentient, then Boromir would have hacked it to death with his sword. As it was, he just taught Jane a few basic moves, like how to stand, how to lunge and how to block for example, and seeing how quickly she tired, sent her on her way. He would have to train her little, and often. She was, he noted, much worse than the Hobbits and they were much smaller than her. But she was female and the Hobbits were remarkably resilient, he rationalised. You must treat her like you would any other lady, he told himself sternly. Ignore her for the most part, act like a gentleman, be slightly suspicious and on your guard at all times. Satisfied with his own rationality, he stomped off to show Aragorn how sweaty he was and smoke something with him.

Jane, acutely aware of the lack of showers, had resigned herself to not being able to wash properly after her work out with big old sweaty Boromir and glumly realised that it was going to get much, much worse. She splashed herself in the river and wandered around looking at the trees for a bit, unwilling to go back into the Homely House slightly damp. It was autumn, she thought, looking at the trees goldening and losing their leaves. They were to leave on Christmas; she remembered that from the books, so they had a bit of time left, before the quest. Waiting for it was dreadful, it was like being in the waiting room at the dentist's except a thousand times worse, she thought. However, there was no need to get hysterical about it, she thought, what I need to do is prepare. If I do a little sword practice with Boromir every day, do some archery with Legolas, find some proper boots, and some rope, ropes always useful, what else will I need, lots of socks and hopefully they have some sort of waterproof material and if we're going up a snowy mountain I'll need lots of layers...

Lost in her own little mental check-list, Jane stumbled upon a little meadow where the Evenstar was kneeling on the grass, staring into the distance. On her lap was some forgotten needlework. Jane stopped suddenly and tried to leave the scene without disturbing the Elf, but Arwen motioned for her to come and sit next to her. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"My handmaidens have gone to procure some lunch," said Arwen at length. Jane blinked.

"Lunch," she repeated. It was the only word she had understood and one of the first she had learnt; meals were very important to her. Arwen looked at her for the first time, her lovely almond eyes focusing on the human with curiosity. To Arwen, she looked like a child, barely grown, but there was something worldly about her, she thought, something strangely knowing. And yet, Arwen thought, she looked kind.

"My name is Arwen," she said, "Elrond is my father." Jane soaked in the new word; father and then introduced herself back. They looked at each other for a while, understanding that there really was nothing to say; it was a rather comfortable silence. Jane lay down on the grass, at peace in the dell, thinking about nothing in particular, the worry that usually hung around her like a cloak dissipated and she closed her eyes and napped.

She woke up a while later, after a dreamless sleep, a gentle breeze ruffling her hair and sat up, her joints cracking a bit, to see three elf ladies around Arwen, quietly chatting in low voices and sipping wine. They were all exceptionally beautiful in that symmetrical way that is very hard to describe as it's very boring. They were all very willowy, fair haired, with blue or green eyes and looked slightly solemn and ageless. While Arwen was the only brunette and wearing a dark velvety dress, the others were wearing lighter pastel colours and she seemed very set apart. It occurred to Jane that she really had no equals in that sense – imagine never having friends, only handmaidens. She felt sorry for her, despite Arwen's beauty, inside and out...no wonder she fell for Aragorn. They were both outsiders. One elf, who had long silvery hair and a ready smile, offered her a goblet, which she took and sipped from.

A word on elf wine; it's superb. It's like being dipped in liquid heat and massaged all over and tickled. It tastes spicy and yet fresh at the same time.

"Ooh!" said Jane, in appreciation. The elf smiled.

"I am Mela," she said, "And this is Cuilwen," she gestured to a smiling elf who gracefully inclined her head, "And this is Raina," the elf next to her nodded.

"You are coming to the Hall tonight?" asked the elf that Jane thought was Cuilwen. Jane wrinkled her forehead in thought – had she heard that word before?

"The Hall?" she asked.

"Yes, it is where we meet to sing," explained the elf that Jane thought was Raina. Jane felt a little dizzy looking at them.

"Ah, yes," murmured Jane. She had completely forgotten that they all liked to sing so much – all those incredibly long songs in the book, about historical people falling in love and killing things. Such a difference from her world, she thought, where songs were quite explicit and about sex or shooting people, although, she mused, is that really so different?

"Are you going to sing?" asked Jane, directed to Arwen, who laughed. Her laugh was not like a tinkling bell, which Jane had expected it to be due to lazy fan fiction writers, which is a good thing, as a tinkling bell would sound rather like the tune an ice cream van plays when it wants to entice hungry children. She laughed softly, yet musically and it made Jane feel very relaxed.

"Perhaps," she replied. "I have heard that Bilbo may grace us with a song."

"Another one?" asked the elf that was probably Cuilwen. She did not look particularly happy at the prospect.

"Yes, Cuilwen," answered Arwen, prompting Jane to give herself a mental high five, "Another one," she confirmed, with a suspiciously cheeky smile.

"Maybe you could sing, Jane, or tell us a tale from your world," asked Mela.

Horror filled Jane. Jane could not carry a note, despite loving hearing people sing, loving music; she was the opposite of musical. And as for telling the people of Imaldris about her world...even if she had the words, it would disgust them. She would have to tell them a tale from the past, hundreds of years ago, maybe. Oh, it was all too complicated; she started sweating.

"Oh no. I am not good." They saw that Jane was very embarrassed at the very idea of it and did not push it, being very polite creatures and so instead, told her all about another time there was music in the Hall at night, when Lindir became slightly intoxicated and told Elrond that he had very pretty hair.

"When was that?" asked Jane, smiling.

"Oh, perhaps three hundred years ago, not very long ago," said Cuilwen. Jane's eyes widened. It was so strange, she thought, to look at immortal creatures, as she had never seen anything that was never going to die. All humans were born with the knowledge of their own death inside them, like a ticking bomb. Imagine three centuries being like last week, she thought. It must be very boring. After all, she thought, they didn't lead really exciting lives, mainly sewing things and singing. Feminism clearly hasn't hit Middle Earth, she thought.

Eventually, after the wine was exhausted, all the meat delicately nibbled and the bread elegantly chewed, she and the elves packed up their picnic and walked back up the hill, swaying with ease, while Jane skipped in her leggings.

Back in her room, she changed back into her dress and wandered around Imaldris for a few hours. She found the library, which was so amazing that she decided she could live there, until she opened a book and discovered they were all in runes and completely unintelligible. It was rather calming, however, albeit a bit dusty, to sit in the big arm chairs and look at all the stacks of history piled higgledy piggledy, and think about all the heroic things contained within the books. Realising she was in a book herself, she felt hugely claustrophobic; whose bookshelf was she lying on? She ran out the room and down some steps, almost tripping over Gimli.

"Whoa, there lassie!" he rumbled, pipe smoke pouring from his mouth. "Where are you going so fast?"

Jane said she had been in the library.

"Ah, I understand completely. Libraries are awful, full of books. Come and have tea with the hobbits," he said, grabbing her hand and leading her away. Due to Gimli being vertically challenged, Jane had to stoop somewhat, but he didn't really seem to noticed and Jane was far too confused to say anything, being quite sure that she had already partaken in some tea with the hobbits not so long ago. But she had forgotten how much hobbits like to eat and how very good they are at it, and so was seated at a little table at a balcony she had never seen before and was given a cup of tea and something vaguely scone-like.

While the hobbits and Gimli's conversation was fascinating in its own little way, mainly reminiscing about Bilbo's adventures with Gloin and the treasure they found, it washed over Jane. She stared into the beautiful distance and suddenly felt not only unbearably homesick and lost, but also alone. Before, tramping about in the wild with Boromir, she had mostly felt grumpy when she had time to feel anything at all, but with the calm atmosphere in Rivendell and the lack of immediate danger, she had more time to think, to ruminate over everything.

Unfortunately, the hobbits and Gimli were much too consumed by their food and their stories, that they did not notice how upset Jane was. However, as Boromir wandered in, wearing a scarlet velvet tunic with brushed hair, to tell them it was dinner time, he most certainly noticed.

He had no idea what to do, though. He looked at her worriedly as they walked along the Hall together, the hobbits either bouncing along or supporting Bilbo. When they reached the Hall, he looked at Gandalf for support, who just winked, at Aragorn, who was talking to Elrond's daughter, again, to Elrond, who was looking at Aragorn, and then back at Jane. Not for the first time, he desperately wished Faramir was here. An elf beckoned them over and sat them on his table, where he introduced himself as Lindir, and told them that there was to be music in the Hall tonight and how he expected singing from them. Bilbo, clearly an old hat at this and a given, started telling everyone how he had first met Lindir, many years ago and Jane lost interest. She picked at her food.

"You should eat," said Boromir, as kindly and softly as he could, so quite gruffly. She started.

"Oh, yes. I know," she glanced at him, noting the combed hair...and beard? She smiled at him, wondering why he had deviated from the hairy sweaty path he had chosen to impress Aragorn. She speared something green with her fork. "Do you have brothers or sisters?" she asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting conversation.

Boromir found it surprising but strangely fitting that when he needed Faramir the most; he came through for Boromir, despite not being present. "Yes, I have a brother called Faramir," he said. "He is younger than me by five years."

"You are...near?" asked Jane, knowing that word was not quite right. Boromir smiled.

"Yes, we are close. Our mother died when we were young and I have tried to look after him as best as I could," he said, rather sadly.

"I am sorry on your mother," commiserated Jane. "I know you look after Faramir good," she continued. Boromir raised his eyebrows. "Always you look after me," she explained.

Boromir felt this was a triumph and restrained himself from jumping up on the table and shouting with glee.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Jane. "I have a big sister. She is twenty years old than me." Boromir raised his eyebrows again. "It is a long time," Jane said with a smile. "My poor mother!" Boromir laughed. "My mother and father are very very old," she continued, sadly, "and very ill. They do not know me." Boromir put his hand on her hand and it would have been a bonding moment, if Pippin hadn't accidentally tipped gravy onto the table, drenching everything, including Boromir and Jane's hands. By the time Pippin had stopped laughing, apologised, trying in vain to clear everything up and stuffed all the rolls into his pockets, it was time for the music, and everything was cleared very quickly and the fire lit. Bilbo hurried off to talk about his poem with Aragorn, Sam couldn't stop asking Frodo questions he didn't know the answers to, Pippin and Merry had procured themselves more pudding and Gimli was growling at Legolas.

A boringly beautiful she-elf stepped in front of the fire and started singing a haunting melody and hypnotised, Jane nodded off, leaning on Boromir's shoulder. Paralysed, he could feel every nerve on his right side singing to him, while the rest of his body was on fire; it was sweet, sweet agony. Aragorn caught sight of him looking terrified but ecstatic at the same time and whispered to Arwen, who glanced their way and laughed.

After the song had ended, Boromir scooped Jane up, effortlessly, and walked out the Hall, along the corridors to her room, slowly, ever so slowly, telling himself that it was because he did not want to wake her, rather than because holding her in his arms was the most erotic experience he had ever had. He laid her down on her bed and draped a blanket over her and stared at her for a while.

He had met more beautiful women, he told himself. He had met more charming women...she was very rude, probably the rudest. And he didn't know what kind of family she came from, which seemed to be of great importance to his father whenever his father had tried to get him married. And she didn't speak Westron, although the effort and the speed she was learning at would have impressed Faramir at his most scholarly. He had found her in a river, he reasoned, which is never a good sign. And yet, Gandalf agreed she was harmless, whatever the magic which had brought her so far from home. She didn't seem to know how to return or have a great inclination to do so. She was all alone in the world, and she looked very vulnerable while sleeping, so sweet, like a baby deer... Boromir told himself to pull himself together; he was a man, for Valar's sake! He had been fighting in wars since before she was born. That thought, however, just reminded him that she was part of the Fellowship for some ungodly reason and made him worry even more. He walked out the room to get some air, not before, however, kissing her on the forehead.

And so the days past, much the same. Aragorn left with Arwen's twin brothers to try and find the Black Riders, giving Boromir not much to do except train the hobbits and Jane and brood, and of course smoke with Gandalf. Legolas spent his time either making Jane's bow, or walking among the trees talking to them. Gimli was either found drinking, smoking or trying to persuade people that Legolas was mad evidenced by talking to himself, or a she-elf. Merry and Pippin ran around eating cake. Frodo spent his time with Bilbo and Sam and Jane packed, repacked, repacked again, wracked their brains in case they had forgotten something, folded clothes as tightly as possible, and looked around for as much rope as they could find. Jane was quite happy, if tired, knowing that she was being useful. Boromir taught her the sword every morning, Legolas helped her with her archery in the afternoon, in the evening she and Sam put their heads together and whenever she had a free minute the hobbits taught her some runes and some simple sentences. Eventually, autumn passed and winter began, although it was hard to tell it was winter in the shelter of Imaldris. The packing was done, Aragorn returned from the wilderness, Legolas presented Jane with her very own bow, and goodbyes were being said as they stood in the courtyard as Elrond prepared to give his speech.

It was heartbreaking. Arwen was gazing at Aragorn with such loyalty in her eyes, as if willing him to know her heart, while Aragorn stared at the ground, in agitation. The Elf and Dwarf were giving each other evils, unhappy that they had to spend so much time together and Frodo's big childlike eyes were so wide and worried. Even the hobbits seemed somewhat subdued. Gandalf was in a kindly mood and smiled at Jane. She looked up at Boromir, whose face was set. How many battles and wars had he fought? She wondered how many scars he had from injuries, how many wounds he had received. He was not scared of the peril ahead.

Jane was bloody terrified. Not only did she know exactly what horrors lay ahead and how much it would cost each of them, she didn't know that she would survive it, and of course, there was the problem of Boromir; he was going to die at that river and she didn't know what she was supposed to do with this information, that for the last few months she had repressed deep into her mind. She looked up at him again, worried.

Elrond was speaking now, Jane didn't understand all the words, but she knew what he was saying: that any member of the Fellowship could turn back at any time of their choosing. She looked up hopefully at him and he very subtly shook his head, not you, he seemed to say. _What a bastard, _she thought_, this is so unfair, I would quite happily spend my time in Rivendell helping with the washing or something, but oh no, he has to get the human out of the elf land. Bastard._

Everyone was very much lost in their own thoughts. Merry was thinking that he and Pippin had gone too far this time. Pippin was thinking about lunch. Sam was worrying that he hadn't packed enough sausages, Frodo was wondering if he could do this. Gimli was promising himself that he would kill more orcs than the elf, Legolas was thinking much along the same lines. Gandalf was thinking about Saruman and Sauron. Aragorn was wondering if he would ever get what he wanted the most in the world and that he probably didn't deserve it anyway. Boromir promised himself that Jane would come to no harm during this quest. Jane was still repeating _bastard, bastard, bastard..._

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_GREETINGS! Well, I've been away a while - gone are the days when I used to write a chapter in a night...however, I'm back! Encouraged by reviews, I must add, to return, so thank you very much. And a Happy New Year to you all. _


	9. Chapter 8

**Jane 8**

_In which things get a little serious..._

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As Jane wearily tramped along the countryside, pulling poor Bill the pony as she thought Sam could do without all the extra work and she wanted someone to talk to, a strong sense of déjà vu seemed to be dogging her. With a sense of Romantic nostalgia, she remembered being dragged through the wild by the big hairy one and here she was again. But this time, there was Rivendell in their sights, merely certain death. _Great_, she thought, _now I've depressed myself_. She searched for something positive to cheer herself up. _This time_, she thought, _I have company, Aragorn...mainly taciturn and pensive, not much fun, she thought dismissively, Gandalf, grumpy, Gimli and Legolas were far too wrapped up in denial over their bromance. The Hobbits were fairly fun_, she thought, _but Pippin was exhausting at times (too excited about the adventure) and Sam and Frodo were, like Aragorn, brooding_. Was there nothing improved since the last time she spent traipsing about in the backend of beyond? She pondered, forlorn.

"SHOES!" she cried joyfully.

Boromir, who was walking next to her, looked at her oddly. "Yes?" he asked, almost fearfully.

"I have shoes," she said, proudly and happily.

Boromir, neither for the first time nor the last, questioned whether he would ever understand her. "Yes," he confirmed, feeling as if he were talking to a child. "Well done."

Jane rolled her eyes. Did he deliberately misunderstand her, or if it were just due to his rather feudal upbringing and surroundings that he thought she was thick? "Before, no shoes; bad. Now, shoes, so maybe not so bad. Yes?"

Boromir thought he understood and was unsure whether he should feel insulted.

"God, you're chatty," she muttered in English, the sarcasm being the only part that Boromir understood. "I wonder what I'd be doing if I were at home?" she thought out loud.

"What language is that?" Frodo asked Gandalf.

"It is Jane's language, Frodo," he answered, witheringly. He obviously did not like to be asked questions he did not know the answer to.

("I'd probably have got a job by now," mused Jane, again in English to Bill, "Some very boring PA position, answering phones, I'd be on again, killing time," she continued. "I wonder which is worse, death by boredom or death by orc?")

"It is called Ing- glish, master Hobbit, but where they speak it, I do not know," answered Boromir, pleased to know something Gandalf did not. "She calls her land Ing-gland but it is not on any map I have seen."

"Nor I," said Aragorn, and that ended that conversation and Pippin started telling a tale about mushrooms.

Everyone, except the Men and the Wizard and the Elf...and probably the Dwarf, felt tired after the first day but quite satisfied nonetheless, when they all sat down around the campfire that Aragorn quickly built for them. Sam told Jane that he was in charge of the food, all puffed up with pride and so she didn't have the heart to argue with him, nor indeed, the energy. He quickly got to work, taking out frying pans, pouring water into pots and peeling vegetables, while Boromir stormed off to collect some more firewood. Gimli took out a pipe and started puffing away, making Jane feel quite relaxed. She wondered how what he would say if she asked for a puff. She didn't know if women smoked here. She'd never seen Boromir smoke so she couldn't badger him into letting her borrow his pipe. She had given up smoking years ago, but was feeling the strain because of all the stress. By the time Boromir returned with an arm full of sticks, the aroma emanating from the pot was so mouth watering, Pippin was almost panting with excitement. Jane started passing around plates and cutlery and Sam ladled out his stew, which they all ate in relative silence, save Merry's burps. There was a squabble after dinner, as to the entertainment. Merry and Pippin wanted to sing a song from the Shire, Sam wanted to hear an Elvish song and looked pleadingly at Legolas, Boromir had asked his fellow soldier Gimli about dwarfish songs and Gandalf wanted to smoke in peace and repeated this several times, each more emphatically than the last.

"What would the lady like?" asked Frodo, diplomatically. It took Jane a second to realise she was the lady; it was nice to be treated with deference for once. What Jane really wanted was a foot rub, but knew that she would have to choose something that would please everyone and so asked the only person who hadn't said anything; Aragorn.

"Aragorn, maybe you sing?" she asked, trying to be polite. The ranger smiled at her and nodded, acquiescingly. He cleared his throat.

"The leaves were long, the grass was green,  
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,  
And in the glade a light was seen  
Of stars in shadow shimmering.  
Tinúviel was dancing there  
To music of a pipe unseen,  
And light of stars was in her hair,  
And in her raiment glimmering.

There Beren came from mountains cold,  
And lost he wandered under leaves,  
And where the Elven-river rolled  
He walked alone and sorrowing.  
He peered between the hemlock-leaves  
And saw in wonder flowers of gold  
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,  
And her hair like shadow following...."

Lulled by Aragorn's soft voice, Jane's head nodded and landed softly on Boromir's shoulder. Aragorn stopped abruptly.

"She means nothing by it," explained Boromir, his voice low and even. "In Rivendell, every time we listened to a song sung in the Hall, she drifted off. For my part, I am just glad there is some way to silence the beast." Pippin and Merry guffawed; Jane did talk a lot.

"Will we not wake her by talking?" asked Sam, worried, he was fond of her as she had taken a liking to the pony and had packed everything with him.

"Nay, when we were in the wild together, it was all I could do to wake her!" smiled Boromir, reminiscing on the times he had tickled her awake, Jane shrieking with laughter when shaking her awake had produced no effect.

"Boromir, how is it you came to know Lady Jane?" asked Frodo, who had been too wrapped up in his own, rather pressing concerns, to have asked before. Boromir unwrapped her bedding and laid her down, very tenderly, on the ground.

"I found her lying in a river bed, in the strangest garments...short trousers like that of yours, Master Hobbit, and a shirt with yellow ducks imprinted on it, very badly burnt. She was completely covered in a strange white powder, it was unlike anything I have ever seen..." he trailed off, staring into the fire. "I thought she was an insane simpleton...and now I know," he said, entirely seriously, with a little twinkle in his eye, making the whole company laugh. It was true that Boromir could be rather abrupt and proud, and was not entirely keen on this mission, and so the company was warming to him slowly. His obvious regard for Jane, however, softened their hearts to him, as a man completely and ineptly in love often does. And especially a man who could admit that the woman he was in love with was a strange lunatic. "She is from a land so far away none have heard of it and is not sure how she came to be here." Boromir looked at Gandalf, as if to explain, but the Wizard, even if he knew, was saying nothing. "Gondor will look after her," he said decidedly, looking at her sleeping face.

They all went to sleep shortly after that, except Aragorn who was first on the night shift.

_It's bloody boring walking_, Jane thought, her hamstrings aching. They had been walking for days now, but the scenery stayed the same, which was frustrating. It seemed they were crawling along at a snail's pace. Gimli was muttering in Dwarfish, probably cursing, but apart from that everyone was silent, even Pippin. The wind was shrieking past them and the sun was high in the sky, burning down on them with a cruel rage. Every fanfic that Jane had read usually skipped the dull monotony of putting one foot in front of the other, trying to make it more interesting by making the hardships bond the Fellowship. Jane mainly felt anger that she was here, everyone else had a choice and could leave and go home whenever they wanted, but Jane had nowhere to go. She mentally tried to calculate how long she had been in Middle Earth and how long she had to go before she could get back to London. This occupied her thoughts for some time and for the most part, kept her mind away from thoughts of Boromir being impaled by many arrows.

Lunch was a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese. The Hobbits complained vociferously; "I don't think you understand, Strider, we're Hobbits! Maybe a loaf..." Pippin said hopefully.

"Mister Frodo needs to keep his strength up!" complained Sam.

"I'm fine, Sam," said Frodo quietly.

"A full stomach and a long march will make you ill," explained Boromir, ever the soldier, coming to Aragorn's aid when it looked like Merry and Pippin were about to attack him. "It's best to eat little and often." Aragorn and Boromir shared a look of understanding, which Jane caught with a smile. She nibbled her slice of bread delicately, watching Gimli's beard get covered with crumbs as he tore into his slice of bread and chomped on his cheese. "I do like the dwarves," said Boromir to her, his eyes following hers. "Excellent table manners..."

Jane blinked, understood then laughed and smiled at Boromir, who smiled back. In the long tramp up "the bloody mountain" as Jane referred to it, Jane tried to mentally prepare herself for fighting; she knew that the first time they would encounter any enemies was in Moria, so she had a far bit of time beforehand. _Offence was the best defence_, she repeated to herself, _stick close to Boromir, remember to move your feet, pointy end goes in the baddie. _It was a good mantra to repeat as they trudged up.

The night was rather cold and luckily Jane wasn't asked for guard duty, She slept as close to the fire and as close to Boromir as she could, curled up in a ball, clutching the bow Legolas had made for her. And she slept fitfully; she dreamt of violence, of caster sugar, but mostly a man being showered with arrows and a large horn split in two.

As they broke their camp in the morning, Jane chanced a look at Boromir. The green eyes snapped away from Frodo and back to her.

"Good morning, Jane," he said.

"Good morning, Boromir," she replied, shifting her bow uneasily.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, politely.

"Um, yes," she lied.

Despite previously thinking he was an old man, in his forties, he really was quite young for one of the descendants of Numenor, she realised. How old was he now? She couldn't remember.

"What year are you?" she asked, cautiously, unsure if this was a rude question or not in Gondorian culture, but he answered back quite regularly, so apparently not.

"_How old_ are you," he corrected. "I am forty one years old," he replied, amused by her curiosity. She stumbled on a root and he grabbed her arm, keeping her upright.

"Thank you," she said, blushing a little. "And you are not, with, um," she faltered over the words, realising that she just didn't have to vocabulary. But she was determined to make herself understood. "There is no...Lady Boromir, I mean?" she asked.

Boromir laughed. "No, I am unmarried." Jane muttered the new word under her breath, committing it to memory.

"And why not?" she asked. Boromir rolled his eyes.

"You are very inquisitive today!" he dodged the question.

"Inquisitive?" she asked. Boromir snorted.

"You ask a lot of questions," he elaborated. She nodded, understanding.

"So, why unmarried?" she asked, relentlessly. She reminded Boromir of his brother as a child, always asking questions, curiously, naively, interested in everything, matching all the pieces together in his head until he understood.

"Why not?" he said, carelessly. Aragorn, who had been eavesdropping, snorted at him, but Gimli, who had also been eavesdropping, decided to interrupt.

"Exactly! Womenfolk are a nuisance," he cried, very matter of fact. "Not you, my dear," he apologised to Jane, who raised her eyebrows, who understood enough to realise she had been insulted. "I didn't realise, I mean, ARGH this is why they are a nuisance!"

Jane pondered for a second. "There are lady dwarves?" she asked, incredulously.

"Of course!" cried Gimli, aghast. "How do you think we are born?" He looked at her for an answer.

"Well, maybe, pop out from ground?" said Jane, shrugging her shoulders. She had not thought it through. Gimli puffed up, but Aragorn saved her from a retort.

"Lady dwarves are very like male dwarves," he explained to her. "And they are often...overlooked." Over Gimli's head he mimed a beard and Jane's jaw dropped and she looked to Boromir for confirmation; he nodded, smirking. Legolas looked fairly disgusted, for Legolas at any rate. At least that's how Jane interpreted the faint crinkle on the bridge of his nose.

All sorts of questions formed in her head; were lady dwarves' voices as low and gruff? Did lady dwarves wear dresses? Did they fight as well? How did dwarves court – how did they knew the gender of the dwarf they were talking/flirting with? She shook them out of her mind, though. She had to stay on track.

"You are not married then, Gimli?" she half asked, amused by the old bachelor.

"Garuff NO! NEVER! Harrumph!" he snorted at that ridiculous idea, while Aragorn concealed his laughter with a cough, Boromir concealed his badly and Jane didn't bother.

"You are old not to be married," she remarked to Boromir, after she had stopped giggling. He did not like where this was going. Not only was Jane questioning his lack of romantic partnership and reminding him of his father's unremitting pushing for a union with a lady and an heir, but it was awkward to be asked these questions by someone Boromir had lain next to, wrapped in his fur cloak and tried in vain not to think about. Naked. Or at all! Especially in front of Aragorn, who, after days in the wild together, was getting quite adept at catching Boromir staring at Jane and making him blush, embarrassed he was obsessing about a woman, a girl, half his age. _Did she just call me old?_

"Perhaps," he said, vaguely, hoping she would lose interest, very conscious of the age gap now.

"So why not married?" she repeated.

"You are like a dog with a bone! Jane, I am a soldier," Boromir explained. Once Jane had made sense of this sentence she tried to think of how to ask her next question, humming tonelessly to herself.

"You not fall in...the thing?" she asked. Boromir looked at her questioningly. "You know, the thing. Um..." she pointed to her heart.

_Oh Valar_, he thought, _she would have to ask that question. If Faramir were here, _he thought grimly_, he would be laughing his head off at how uncomfortable this was._

Luckily for Boromir, Aragorn decided to take pity on him. "We shall make camp here, I think," he said.

"I'll go collect some firewood," grumbled Boromir and stormed off before Jane could say anything. She stood, nonplussed, looking at his back recede into the distance with alarming speed.

"In love," came a low voice. Jane turned and faced Aragorn. "It's called falling in love." Jane widened her eyes in understanding and smiled at him.

Jane decided to drop the subject, but it confirmed all her fears. Boromir had spent his entire life dedicated to Gondor. He didn't have a proper, rounded life, which he deserved. He wasn't fighting for his girlfriend, like Aragorn, which made her feel sad. It seemed like such a waste. As she sat around the fire, next to Legolas who was also staring at the flames, she wondered what she could do really. _Boromir did not have the strength to resist the Ring and it was important that he didn't, otherwise Frodo and Sam wouldn't leave at the precise moment they do, _she thought_. If they leave any later, or not at all, who knows how the story ends? But how much have I already changed it?_

_It's just a story_, argued her inner logic. _But I'm in it,_ she argued. _And Fan Fiction said I could die and I can feel pain, _she thought,wriggling her blistery toes_. _

Boromir tried to avoid her for a couple of weeks, much to Aragorn's amusement. She took to talking to Legolas, trying to bring him out of his shell and talk about his homeland, Mirkwood, with Gimli listening and occasionally chipping in. Boromir bonded with Pippin and Merry, chatting about the Shire and ale. If Jane did not understand a word, she always looked to Boromir to help her and unconsciously, they always pitched their sleeping rolls next to each other and slept with their backs to each other. Jane spent half the time she was supposed to be resting wondering how she was to live with the knowledge that Boromir was going to die soon and Boromir half-hoping that Jane would not stretch after they awoke and half-hoping she would and then dreaming about her.

The Ring did not affect Jane at all. But it was working hard on Boromir. Boromir felt the pressures of his life heavy on his shoulders and the stress of Jane's presence was starting to get to him. In Rivendell he was prepared to admit to himself that he had feelings for her, but they were growing so strongly and she was in his company all the time. There was no release. His attraction to her was beginning to eclipse everything else. He couldn't have her, though. _It was completely inappropriate, they were on a quest to rid the world of evil and save his people,_ he reminded himself. If they were in Minas Tirith, what would he do? He didn't know; ask Faramir for advice, most likely. She didn't even seem aware of his feelings, he thought, deflated, and the Ring picked up on his dejection. As he drifted off into sleep, it started whispering to him about how powerful he'd become if he took the Ring and how irresistible he would be to Jane, and how he could achieve his two greatest goals; peace for Gondor and Jane. Of course, he didn't remember this when he awoke, but the feeling of unease remained.

After chatting with his fellow Hobbits, Pippin bounced up to Boromir and engaged him in conversation. " Do you like Jane?" he asked curiously. Boromir looked at him, amused and slightly suspicious.

"Of course I like Jane. I like everyone, Pippin. We are all friends here in this company," he replied, trying to keep his voice low, so no one else would hear him, and as unconcerned as possible. Pippin grinned.

"What about Aragorn?" he continued. _Why do they keep asking me these infernal question_, Boromir internally cried, _I don't see anyone asking Aragorn about these things._

"I'm sure he likes Jane, too," he answered, diplomatically, trying to dodge the inevitable.

"No," laughed Pippin. "I mean do you like him?" Boromir wondered how much Pippin understood of Gondorian politics. How could he explain to Pippin how abandoned he felt by Aragorn, who had spent his life wandering freely around Middle Earth as rangers are wont to do, while Boromir's brother and father were sacrificing their lives and, in Denethor's case, sanity to protect lands for Aragorn's return? How the pain of the death of each man in Boromir's battalion stung him, pierced him like a knife while Aragorn was uninflected? How he didn't dare hope that Aragorn could solve all the problems in Gondor because he didn't trust hope anymore, had spent too long fighting orc after orc to see any end in it. How he desperately wanted to please Aragorn but also wanted an apology, or an explanation for why he hadn't come forward before. Or at least why he hadn't told Boromir who he was the first time they had met.

"Yes, of course I like Aragorn," he said, a little sadly, for it was true.

"Do you like Aragorn in the same way you like Jane?" asked Pippin, sensing that this question would catch Boromir off guard.

"Of course not!" said Boromir, disgusted, then irritated when he realised how easily he had been tricked. "I mean... you little tricksy bastard!" he hissed.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone!" sang Pippin, joyfully, escaping before bodily harm met him. Boromir didn't know how much he trusted Pippin with that information, but Pippin kept his word. Boromir was unaware the reason that Pippin didn't tell anyone, despite being an awful gossip, was that everyone already knew and were taking bets on how long Boromir could go without a declaration. A declaration to the Fellowship or merely to Jane, they could not decide on, but it was a popular topic of conversation. Sam was sure that a big brave man like Boromir would win Jane over very quickly, but felt an affinity with him due to their reticence to talk to the girl they both admired so much. Pippin and Merry thought Boromir's affection and Jane's obliviousness was hilarious and it was only due to Frodo's stern command that they behave and not interfere that Boromir was not subjected to strong teasing. Gimli thought Boromir should man up and tell her soon and Legolas thought Jane could do better. Gandalf kept muttering about how he wanted to knock their two heads together. Aragorn started winking at Boromir every time he caught him staring at Jane, making Boromir's blushes even more potent.

Boromir continued to teach Merry and Pippin the sword whenever they stopped for a rest, which took his mind off Jane for even though he used to train her she carried a short sword, had decided that she had reached her fencing peak and should stick to archery, a decision possibly influenced by her new best friend, Legolas. Boromir did not counter it, there was no way he could confront her, even lightly, with a sword and as for correcting her posture, her grip or her stance, like he had done effortlessly in the past, that was out of the question. Just thinking about it brought him out in a cold sweat; he could not touch her under any circumstances. So he concentrated on getting the little ones up to scratch on their swords. This was another huge worry for him, that he was concerned that Aragorn and Gandalf took too lightly, that the Hobbits were totally untrained for war and could easily get hurt and killed_. It was folly, _hethought_, absolute folly to let such little people on a journey such as this._ And so he spent a lot of time with them, teaching them.

"Get away from the blade, Pippin...one your toes, good, very good...I want you to react, not think," he said, encouraged by Pippin's confident strokes.

"That won't be hard," muttered Sam.

"Move your feet!" suggested Aragorn.

"Quite good, Pippin," congratulated Merry.

"Thank you," said Pippin, with a little bow.

Jane clapped and Boromir felt very subconscious again and accidentally scratched Pippin. Horrified, he apologised profusely and the Hobbits jumped on him, laughing and trying to tickle him. Aragorn and Jane laughed at the sight of the big bear of a man taken down by two children sized hobbits and were taken aback when Sam asked, with consternation in his voice; "What is that?"

A wispy cloud was darting around the sky, moving towards them with peculiar speed. Legolas was staring at it, his Elven eyes trying to make it out.

"It's just a cloud," said Gimli, uncertainly.

"It's moving against the wind, fast," countered Boromir, worriedly.

"Crebain from Dunland!" clarified the Elf. Everyone ran for cover, Sam poured water over the fire and grabbed his pack and Frodo's and helped Frodo hide under a rock. Legolas skipped under cover the quickest, with Gimli huffing and puffing behind him. Gandalf's grey cloak covered him up well enough. Boromir shouted to Merry and Pippin to take cover, ushering them under a nearby rock and he grabbed Jane's hand and swept her under a bush. They lay on their backs, looking up through the leaves at the sky, at the strange black birds crowing and encircling their encampment and quickly flying out. It all happened very quickly, so quickly that Jane had not noticed that Boromir had grabbed her hand and was still holding it. She squeezed it and looked up at him and mouthed "thank you," at him. He mouthed back "you're welcome". He pulled her out of the bush, before the company and let go.

_He's very underrated in the books and film_, she thought. _No one ever gives him a lot of credit; he found Rivendell after three months in the wild, without a map and without a clue as to where it was, without a horse and with me as a burden; he always takes care of the hobbits, he's always the one making sure they're ok, looking after me and being very patient. He's really quite sweet._

"We go over the mountain, the Pass of Caradhras!" finished Gandalf. She blinked, having missed the speech and looked up at the snowy peaks. _This was not going to be fun_, she thought.

Boromir insisted on taking more firewood up the mountain, because he feared everyone would freeze to death. Gandalf wasn't keen on starting fires, Jane had noted, as the smoke would only alert the Crebain to their location but given a choice between detection and freezing to death, he would choose the latter.

"Bill can take a bit more, can't you, lad?" said Sam to his beloved pony, who looked at him mournfully.

The road they took up the mountain twisted and turned a narrow path wound under a sheer wall of cliffs to the left and on the right was a gulf of darkness where the land fell into a sharp and deep ravine. They climbed up the acute slope in a line, laboriously, when it started to snow, softly at first and then almost violently.

Luckily, Jane had months to prepare for this. Although she had known it was a fruitless venture and that made it even more frustrating for her climbing up the showy heights, she had made sure to pack hats and gloves and plenty of pairs of socks. For everyone. She handed them out as soon as the bitingly cold wind started to push the snow in their faces, and wrapped the hobbits up in scarves and shawls. The seamstresses in Rivendell had been bemused by her requests, looking at her as if she were insane, perhaps because they had forgotten what it was to be outside an environment which was not controlled by Elrond and therefore always mild or perhaps because she did not know half the words she needed to explain what she wanted; they didn't have any completely waterproof material. Elrond provided them with jackets lined with fur, but as going up Caradhras was never part of the plan, Jane had thought she should gather extra furs and gloves and the like. She offered a furry hat to Aragorn, who, surprisingly accepted and Boromir, who did, too. She thought that they would be too proud or manly to accept. She gave two pairs of socks to Gandalf, without asking, who raised his eyebrow.

"You are old and your feet are cold," she explained. He snorted, which she took to be a thanks. She pulled her hat over her hair and wrapped a scarf around her neck and tied a shawl over her tunic, thanking her lucky stars her boots seemed waterproof.

"You have done well," said Aragorn, smiling at her and clapping her on the shoulder. Jane beamed, she felt like she was a proper member of the Fellowship now she had contributed something. Everyone was warm for now. "Snow seldom falls so heavily so far south and never so low in the mountains," he said, worried.

"This is a contrivance of the Enemy, then," said Boromir. "They say he can govern storms in the Mountain of Shadow in Mordor's borders."

"His arm has grown long to reach us here, three hundred leagues away!" grumbled Gimli.

"Indeed," answered Gandalf.

While they had halted to put on extra layers supplied by Jane, the snow had slackened but as they continued, it returned with a fury, a whistling blinding blizzard that even Boromir, who was the most used to this kind of weather, found difficult to walk through. The poor hobbits, Jane noticed, were bent double, using the bigger folks are a wind block but it was obvious they would not last long. They all halted, coming to an unspoken agreement. Eerie noises, perhaps a trick of the wind, swirled round them. Laughing and shrill cries, manic and high pitched. Then stones crashed down the mountain side and landed beside them; they ducked in close to the side.

"Caradhras the Cruel, it has long been called," said Gimli, "these fell voices and attacks are aimed at us!"

Jane was too scared and cold to say anything. She leaned on Boromir for support and hoped they would choose to leave the mountain soon.

"We must camp here while the storm holds," decided Gandalf. "This is the most shelter we will find," he said, grimly.

Jane wanted to cry. This was desperate.

They huddled with their backs to the wall, but the drifting snow soon buried the Hobbits and Boromir had to dig Frodo out within minutes. "This will be the death of the Halflings, Gandalf! They are frozen and Jane...well, she has stopped talking." He looked at Gandalf desperately.

"So I've noticed," he said dryly and pulled out a leather flask from his pack. "Give them a mouthful of this each, for everyone. It is very precious. It is miruvor, the cordial of Imaldris. Pass it round!"

As soon as everyone had sipped the warm and fragrant liquor, they felt a new strength of heart and the drowsiness left their limbs. Jane felt slightly tipsy, but without all the disadvantages. The hobbits stopped shivering so much and smiled a bit. Boromir then convinced Gandalf to start a fire, but it proved too hard to strike a flame in the swirling wind; Jane almost managed it, having been an avid smoker in her youth, but in the end Gandalf had to help them out with his magic stick and some fancy magic words.

This cheered Jane up a lot. A spout of green and blue flame sprang out of his staff and the wood and kindling Boromir had dragged up the mountain flared and spluttered. "Wow," she said.

"Harrumph. I may as well have written _Gandalf is here_ in the sky," he grumbled.

"You can do that?" asked Jane, who only received a scowl as an answer. "Wow," repeated Jane, who was very impressed. Everyone was pleased with the warmth and huddle around the little dancing flames, but the snow was still upon them.

Jane leant her head against Boromir again, trying to repeat to herself that they would not die on this mountain, they would get down it, they would be fine and trying not to cry because she was sure that the tears would freeze. "Do not fall asleep, little one," he whispered to her and put his arm around her.

Eventually the fire burned low and Aragorn declared it almost dawn and the snowflakes were fewer and fewer and then they stopped. "Thank God," said Jane. But the snow was still a massive obstacle to their retreat as outside the ash of their fire, it stood far above the Hobbit's heads, piled by the wind. It looked like they were trapped, she thought.

"Gandalf could go before us with a bright flame, he might melt a path for you," suggested Legolas. _Quiet Legolas, _thought Jane_, always happy and light, and naive, didn't anyone ever tell you; never piss off the wizard?_

Gandalf looked grumpier than ever; "Maybe Legolas could fly over the mountain and fetch the sun while I'm at it!" he snapped.

Jane poked Boromir in the ribs, for he was fiddling with his tinderbox and missing out on the entertainment.

"What are we going to do?" wailed Pippin.

"As we say in Gondor, when heads are at a loss, bodies must serve! Aragorn and I will force a path," he declared and shoved his tinderbox in his path. They were quite a match for the snow. Aragorn was the taller of the two, though not by much, but Boromir broader and more heavily built and their combined strength had them toiling heavily and quickly.

"It look like you are swim, Boromir!" cried Jane, to cheer everyone up, and it did look like Boromir was swimming in the snow. "Swimming, it looks like I am swimming, Jane," he cried back, his voice full of strain. The Hobbits stood and watched the bizarre sight while Sam and Jane tied the packs back onto Bill the pony.

"Well," said Legolas, "I go to find the Sun!" and jumped above everyone's heads onto the snow and shot away around the rocky bend. Gandalf scowled heavily at him and Gimli looked on, amazed.

"Oh he is a nuisance, yes, Gandalf?" asked Jane.

Gandalf hummed in concurrence. Boromir and Aragorn turned the corner and were out of sight and Gimli, Gandalf, Jane and the Hobbits (and Bill) were left for an hour to wait for their friends, until Legolas skipped back and hopped down.

"Where is the sun?" asked Jane, with a smile.

"I did not find it, dear Jane, but I did find a great drift where our two men are almost buried. But I told them it was not very wide and after it the snow grows less until it is only a light powder on top of the earth," replied Legolas.

"The Cruel will of Caradhras! That drift was put there to stop us escaping!" grumbled Gimli.

"Frodo, tell me please, what is drift?" Jane quietly asked Frodo.

"It is a big mound of snow created by the wind," he answered kindly.

"Ah, thank you," she said. A pause. "And what is mound?" Frodo smiled at her.

"A small hill," he explained.

"Ah, thank you," she said. Another pause. "And what is created?"

"It means the same as made, Jane," answered Boromir's voice, coming from the passage in the snow. He appeared, with Aragorn behind him. "I wish we had some spades, but we did well enough," he said, looking at Aragorn who nodded. He's gone into leader of the soldiers mode, realised Jane, who quite liked bossy Boromir.

"It will still be too difficult for the Hobbits to get through," said Aragorn.

"Then what are we going to do!" wailed Merry. Jane patted him on the head and turned to Boromir and Aragorn.

"I am weary but there is still strength left in me, we will carry the little ones and those who follow behind will make shift to tread our path," explained Boromir and he picked up Merry, instructing him to cling to his back as he needed his arms. Aragorn followed with Pippin and the hobbits marvelled at Boromir's strength, the passage had been forced by only his limbs and even now he was widening the path. Eventually, after two hundred metres, they came to the great drift, which looked like a sheer and sudden wall, twice Aragorn's height, but the two men had already forged a path through it. Pippin and Merry were set down to wait with Legolas, more than a little in awe of the Big Folk's strength, while they returned to carry Sam and Frodo. It did not escape Jane's notice that Aragorn was very careful not to let Boromir carry Frodo. She motioned for Gimli to sit on Bill and ushered Gandalf ahead, while she led the poor scared pony through the path. Boromir stood worried at the drift.

"I was going to come and get you," he said to Jane, a little put out. He had been looking forward to carrying Jane. Gimli half fell off the pony and Jane bent down to steady him.

"I am fine, Boromir, thank you," she said. He bit his lip, disappointed, and led the way through the tunnel in the drift, which was not very thick and as Legolas had reported, the snow was thinner and the way down, although slippy, looked easier. Everyone was exhausted after a sleepless night and their bones ached and their stomachs rumbled. Jane wished she had a pair of skis as she carefully chose where to put her feet. The hobbits had the edge on everyone, apart from the Elf, as their sure footed ways were a keen advantage. Jane slipped on some shard and Boromir ran to help her up.

"I am fine," she repeated, but he walked closely with her all the way down the mountain, glad to help her.

When they reached the bottom, Gandalf declared grimly; "The mountain has defeated us and we must choose a different path."

Jane knew where they were headed now and would have gladly gone back up Caradhras.

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_Well, thank you very much for all your reviews! I had a look at the book, and the chapters after they leave Rivendell and go up the mountain are very Boromir orientated, which was great - and so I borrowed from them HEAVILY. I felt bad, like I was plagarising and then I almost slapped myself for stupidity. Anyway, they're less silly, but there you go. Hope you enjoy!!_


	10. Chapter 9

**JANE 9 and ½ **

**In which they go somewhere very dark…**

The climb down towards the entrance of the mine was slow, torturous and like slowly descending into a pit, all the light was sucked out. The ground was slippy and sticky and smelled vaguely of rotting fish. Now that it was less cold, all the snow collected on her hair and clothes started melting and she could feel icy water trickle down her back. She was glad she was a girl, as the beards the men, wizard and dwarf wore were thick with frost and starting to melt. Gandalf wrung his beard and then swung it over his shoulder. Jane looked on in awe and prodded Boromir to look, but he was less impressed by Gandalf's beard antics, perhaps because he had been on the march with men before and had seen a lot stranger things, or perhaps because his suggestion of going through the Gap of Rohan to "his city" had been ignored, continually. No wonder he felt no one paid attention to Gondor or its needs. Gandalf's beard, swaying over his shoulder as he walked, cheered Jane up a bit, because her surroundings were gloomy. The mountain, which had once been full of dwarvish activity had clearly fallen into disrepair some time ago, perhaps hundreds of years, looking at the stone archways that were falling apart. Or, thought Jane, conversely, they had never been finished, It gave her the impression that it was very old and that the mountain they were about to enter was even older.

Everyone around her looked depressed. Jane thought it was probably because they had been defeated by the snow and weren't relishing going into the dark. It was a forbidding place, colourless, lifeless, so still and echoing, the only movement the wispy mist blowing through it. Still, thought Jane, I can feel my feet now, looking around at the solemn faces. Even the horse looked sad.

Why does Bill remind me of Eeyore? Wondered Jane. Is it because he looks so depressed?

Gimli was the only happy, animated face, as he was going on about how his cousin was going to give them a royal feast and was describing all the dishes they would be eating and the ale. "Where do the food go in Gimli?" she asked Boromir.

He smiled. "His stomach is a mine," he said.

"Ho ho ho Boromir make a joke!" teased Jane. "Soon pigs fly," she said.

"I will have you know, Jane, that when not tramping around mountains on a suicidal mission, I can have a sense of humour," Boromir told her.

She looked up at him. "Hmm. We will see," she whispered.

"Ah," said Gandalf. "Frodo, come and help an old man," he said.

"Wizard," said Jane, tiredly and pedantically.

"An old wizard then, thank you, Jane," Gandalf amended. He took Frodo under his arm and they had a secret conversation, looking an odd sight together. Gandalf smoothed his now dry beard out and let it hang in the usual place, while talking to the Ring Bearer.

"Ah, the Walls," said Gimli, pointing at some walls. Jane looked on disinterestedly.

"Ah, the rocks," she said, pointing at rocks, "ah, the sky," she said, pointing at the sky, "ah, the fellowship," she pointed at the fellowship. Gimli scowled.

"Jane," warned Boromir, shaking his head at her.

"Hrrumph, as I was saying, ah, the walls…of Moria!" Gimli pointed again, a little more impressively and they all looked at the vast walls.

In truth, the walls were very impressive in that they were very tall. Jane thought them incredibly ugly.

"Dwarf walls are invisible when closed," said Gimli, acting as a tour guide, tapping the wall with his axe.

"Ah, the invisible walls!" said Jane. Boromir gave her a look and she chose to sit on a rock and wait. She hugged her knees and thought about food.

"….their own masters cannot find them," said Gandalf.

"Why doesn't that surprise me," muttered Legolas.

Gimli started growling, which rather surprised Jane. They kept walking for some time along the walls, so Jane was forced to end her repose and follow them until they came to the edge of a rather murky and smelly lake. Jane made sure that her feet went nowhere near the still water, carefully treading over the roots, branches and stones.

After about twenty minutes, Gandalf started stroking the wall, which in Jane's sleepiness was odd even for him, until she remembered what he was doing. Muttering to himself, he traced a dark metal along the wall, which Jane could only just make out and then looked up at the sky. Dark clouds past over the moon, and cleared it, leaving it big and round, like a plate, and it shone down on them and something wonderful and beautiful happened. The metal lit up, as if fluorescent but certainly luminous and a enchanting elvish door appeared, reminding her of their craftsmanship back in Rivendell. Stars and swirls and beautiful symmetry and their beautiful and foreign runes appeared glowing on the dark stone.

"It reads, "The door of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter."

"What do you suppose that means?" asked Merry.

Gandalf answered, confidently, "Oh, it's quite simple, it means if you are a friend, speak the password and enter." Jane rolled her eyes.

He raised his staff to the door and shouted something impressive in Elvish. Nothing happened and he frowned and looked about him. He raised his arms and shouted something different, but no less impressive. He looked worried.

"Nothing is happening," said Pippin. Gandalf started trying to push the door open.

Jane sat down again and closed her eyes for a bit.

A plopping sound woke her up, and it felt like hours had past, perhaps because in sleeping a moment can feel like eternity and a long time can feel like a blink. In reality, barely twenty minutes had passed, but Gandalf's desperation had increased tenfold and the rest of the Fellowship were starting to doubt their leader.

I'm too cold to put up with this, she thought.

"Mellon!" she cried. The doors slowly swung open, with a creak and a groan, revealing a darkness that made the light they had been sitting in look like daylight. The entire Fellowship turned to look at her, in amazement. She smiled smugly at them and raised her eyebrows. "Oh yeah, underestimated me, didn't you," she said in English. "Where's Bill?" she asked in Westron, suddenly noticing his absence.

"We had to let him go, Miss Jane," said Sam, sadly. "The mines are no place for a pony," he said, looking at Aragorn. Jane pouted, she would like to have said goodbye.

"Let's go, then," said Gandalf. Everyone picked up their bags and Pippin threw a last stone into the lake.

"No!" said Jane, panicked. Pippin looked at her.

"What's wrong, Jane?" he asked.

She looked at the lake.

"You shouldn't have disturbed the water," said Aragorn, staring worriedly at the strong waves in the lake, that a few pebbles wouldn't have created with a ripple.

"Into the mine, everyone," said Gandalf, ushering them in.

"Now, for a little light," he said, Jane watched him as he screwed his crystal into his staff, the words of Gimli washing over her head and Gandalf blew onto his staff and it lit up.

Gimli was still laughing when the light hit the stone staircase and the edges of the tunnel and they saw the corpses. "A mine!"

"This is no mine," said Boromir, softly. "This is a tomb," he whispered, looking at the goblin arrows piercing dwarf skulls, the sunken bodies, just chainmail and an axe.

"Nooooo," moaned Gimli, in horror.

Jane placed herself carefully behind Frodo, looking out to the moving water behind them. She could see nothing, but she had a hand on her bow, waiting for an attack. Aragorn and Boromir drew their swords and looked into the mine. "We make for the Gap of Rohan," said Boromir. "We should never have come here, now get out of here, get – Jane what are you looking at?" he said, caught off balance at Jane who had raised her bow at the entrance. She looked over to him instinctively, for the most fleeting of seconds, and that was when the monster chose to strike.

A tentacle shot out, aiming for Frodo, but Jane pushed him out the way and it grabbed her foot and pulled her along. She could see Boromir's terrified face upside down as she dropped her bow and struggled to get the knife that had been resting idle for a long time in her right boot. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins and all she could hear was a pounding in her ear. She lunched and grabbed the knife and struck at the tentacle, Pippin and Merry hacking it with their little swords and they cleaved it in two.

She scrambled to her feet just as five tentacles rose from the water and pushed over the hobbits and one wrapped itself around her feet and pulled her high into the air.

Swinging wildly about upside down, she cut the tentacle holding her and fell, screaming, ten foot in the air until another one caught her. A giant, monstrous head emerged from the dark waters, so hideous and vast, with its mouth wide open, displaying grey, dirty and terribly sharp teeth, rows of them , an evil mouth intent of eating her.

She fell in the air again, screaming, but this time someone strong caught her. It was Boromir, and he ran shouting back through the door into Moria, and the monster followed, crawling on its tentacles, it crashed onto the walls and Boromir dropped Jane so she could run and the walls crumbled and tore down and everything went black.

Jane was on the floor; she couldn't see anything, but she could feel that she was sitting on some bones. "Oh my god, oh my god," she whispered, panicking, feeling completely alone in the pitch dark. She got to her feet clumsily, backing into a wall. Everything hurt, her back and legs where she had been dragged along the stones on the ground, her ankles where the tentacles had wrapped themselves tightly around her bones, and her head was thumping. She started to hyperventilate and put her arms out in front of her, wanting desperately for one of the Fellowship to come and touch her, so she could feel another person. She was shaking terribly.

Someone touched her hand and clasped it and drew her in. "You are safe, little one," said Boromir's gruff voice, from the darkness. "Calm down," he asked her. She buried her face into his chest, where his growly voice vibrated and she tried to breathe. Gandalf lit his crystal again and the dim light illuminated dusty scared and concerned faces.

"Are you hurt?" asked the hobbits together, in a jumble. Boromir answered for her.

"She'll be fine in a minute."

"Sorry," she whispered, after a few seconds, when she had calmed down. "I was scared." She let go of Boromir and looked round at the rest of the Fellowship who were dimly illuminated by Gandalf's staff. "I don't like the dark," she said, apologetically.

"I have your bow," said Legolas, and handed her back the bow that she had dropped.

"Oh, thank you," she said, gratefully. Looking up at Boromir she said, "Well, that's the important thing," she joked, braving a smile.

"I'm glad you're unhurt," said Pippin sweetly and gave her a hug. She smiled and patted him on the back.

In the dim darkness and the draft the decimated bodies of dwarves and goblins glinted at Jane and the stench of burning flesh hung in the air. She had never been anywhere so relentlessly dark before, where the blackness went on forever.

"We have now but once choice," said Gandalf. Jane looked back at the blocked off entrance, where the dust was still settling. She put the knife which she had been gripping back in the sheath in her boot and stood up. Now, she said to hersefl miserably, they just had a couple of nights in the mine and a battle with the goblins to look forward to, oh, and a fight with a balrog which loses us Gandalf.

"I hate mines," she said. Everyone, especially the elf, looked like they agreed with her.

"We must face the long dark of Moria," continued the wizard. "Be on your guard...there are older and fouler things than the Orcs in the deep places of the world."

Jane tried hard to imagine what Moria would have looked like when it was under the dwarvish rule and not decimated by the forces of evil. She thought it would look grand and solemn, but she could not imagine it every looking cheerful, or imagine happiness deep down in the mines. It was too intense, to grey and dark and too empty to inspire cheer.

"Quietly, now," encouraged the wizard, interrupting her thoughts. "It's a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence will go unnoticed."

And now it was littered with dead bodies and goblin graffiti of dwarvish blood. Even without it, the precariously narrow bridges they had to walk over, the deep caverns, with unused mining equipment, was eerie and sinister.

"Four days," she whispered. That was an awful long time to spend in the dark, she thought.

"Don't worry, little one," said Boromir, behind her. "I'll look after you."

Jane had been counting on that.

Oh dear, it's been such a long time since I updated! Shame on me! However, I thought getting to eleventy-one reviews was something of a sign so i have determined to finish! And I miss Boromir/Jane interaction. And basically, any old excuse to think about Boromir for a long period of time.

Anyway! I hope you enjoy it, tell me what you think. It's only half the chapter, the other half of Moria is still being written.


	11. Chapter 9 and Three Quarters

**9 and ¾ **

* * *

**Moria: Part Two**

**In which a grumbly Boromir worries about Jane and thinks about home and an equally worried Jane wonders about morals.**

* * *

Boromir was annoyed. Actually, Boromir was more than annoyed, he was livid. But he kept it simmering underneath because he knew his place in the Fellowship and Moria was not the place to have a go at Aragorn.

Moria. He'd read about Moria. Faramir had the reputation as the reader, but Boromir was not just a common soldier. He had read everything about military strategy in the great library of Gondor, a lot of history and Moria had intrigued him. A mine under a mountain. Looking up, it seemed as though the mountain was completely hollowed out.

He had started asking Gimli questions about mining, uses and practices, partly to satisfy his own curiosity and partly to keep Gimli occupied; no one likes a sad dwarf.

Underneath, he felt a sting of rejection. Aragorn didn't want to take the ring anywhere near men. He didn't trust men. Which means, thought Boromir sadly, he doesn't trust me; a poor leadership quality. If he puts no faith in his own kind, then how does he expect to see them do well?

Boromir wasn't sure that Aragorn wanted to take the throne; he felt that Aragorn was ambiguous about it. It's your duty, he said silently to Aragorn's back. Serving Gondor was the most important thing in Boromir's life, he felt Aragorn was belittling him.

Jane sneezed.

Whenever Faramir and Boromir had been sent on different missions, they had always kept in contact with each other by letter. Boromir had never gone this long without conversing in some form with his brother, and he felt he needed his little brother's calm wisdom and cheeky humour more than ever. Boromir had never needed help with women before. Gold-diggers hungry for power that the wife of the Steward would wield had been hunting him for the last twenty years; he was adept enough at sidestepping them. Tavern wenches also loved him. Women from the villages. Women from the fishing villages near where his mother was from. Lot's of women had been interested in him; he'd never had to worry about it before. He thought back to all the women he'd known, and although he could remember all their names, he could never remember any of them ever touching his heart.

Noble ladies, that his father had pushed at him, usually for some reason that would profit Denethor, had never even tickled his ribcage. If they hadn't been gold diggers, they had been terrified of Boromir's burliness and fierce eyes, they had been horrified at choosing a husband who looked like a bear. Or, they had attempted to play games with him, tangle him up with their witty discourse and have him at their mercy; they had forgotten of course, that Boromir, although the consummate soldier, was highly educated and more than adept at keeping up with their games, so whenever they teased him in Elvish, he knew enough to answer back and evade their nets. His heart was never in danger and he told his father he would marry when he was ready; something Denethor had to respect as he had told his father the same thing, many years ago.

Jane, he considered. He had never spent this much time with a woman before. He didn't know her status, but she seemed just as comfortable in high born Elvish company as she did with Gimli and his stories about gutting pigs. She learned very quickly; her Westron was coming along quite well. She was clearly educated and clever.

Was she pretty, he wondered. In the wild, she looked a tangled mess, like the rest of them. It didn't seem to matter if she was pretty or not, he thought, she was Jane and that was it.

Valar, he wanted to talk to Faramir. He was out of his depth.

If they ever made it out of this godforsaken mine, and survived the mission, Jane could come and live in Gondor, he thought. Preferably in my bed. If I can convince her.

He looked at her, through the gloom. She looked tired, he thought. Another reason to be annoyed at Aragorn, for refusing to take them through the Gap of Rohan, so he could get her to safety.

The Hobbits were faring well, he thought, as he passed Pippin an apple, they didn't seem to mind the darkness too much. Nothing like the Elf; Legolas was jittery, something he had never thought an Elf could be. And Gimli wasn't much better, always looking around him with that upset expression. Boromir had been talking to him a lot, he knew what it was like to come upon your dead kinsman and the guilt and the anguish that ate into you. The best thing, Boromir thought, was to take Gimli's mind off it, and so had asked him any question he could think of about dwarves and mining.

Jane had joined in and his heart had soared. Together they didn't leave Gimli alone, kept him company, asked him difficult questions about dwarf culture and sat with him while he told them about his dead cousin, about how he had taught him about diamond lore and how to braid his beard and shine his axe. Boromir was glad to be of aid to his fellow warrior; the thing Boromir liked doing most in the world was being useful, but also…there was something about doing something with Jane.

He felt like he was in partnership; like they were a team. And not how he felt when he was commanding an army, or being equals in the fellowship, or even talking with his brother. He felt really close to her, just like he did with Faramir but with an extra something. The shared looks of worry about Gimli, the smiles they managed to illicit from him, the time she had touched his shoulder…

I'm getting really soft, he thought, amused. He had caught Jane looking at him in the darkness a couple of times and his heart had skipped a beat, like it had been grabbed by an iron fist. Why was she looking at him? It felt like she had been appraising him. What did she think of him?

Maybe it's the darkness that's making me depressed, he wondered, as they prepared camp for the third night, feeling both uneasy and glorious when Jane pitched her bedroll next to his. I can't imagine that she has a good opinion of me, I've criticised, mocked her, ignored her, I've never treated her like a lady. She must think that I'm an oaf.

Would she accept an offer of marriage from him? His father wouldn't like it at all, but Boromir didn't care, Faramir would love her, he thought, wryly. She might accept because she had no other option, he thought, chilled to the bone. She had no kin in Middle Earth and nowhere to live. He would rather she would reject him than accept him for that. Aragorn would probably take her in, he realised, when he became king.

When did I start thinking Aragorn was going to be the king of Gondor? He asked himself, horrified.

A little part of him, that sounded very much like Jane said, oh shut up, you always knew it.

He frowned as he lied down, pulling his cloak over him. Legolas had first watch, but Boromir would relieve him in three hours, so he told himself to start sleeping and forget that she was inches away from him.

* * *

Three hours later to the minute, Boromir woke up and groaned softly, his back cracking. I'm getting old, he thought, remembering the times when he was in his twenties and sprang out of bed. Legolas wordlessly nodded at him, looking pale even in the dimness. Boromir felt a stab of pity for him.

His heart was heavy as he looked down into the darkness.

He hoped Faramir was fine, away from the city in Ithilien. He didn't like the idea of him being anywhere near their father without Boromir there. Denethor was so hard on him. It was bad enough that Boromir was worrying about his brother's safety (although he conceded that Faramir could easily handle himself, but he wouldn't be a proper big brother if the idea of Faramir being injured or killed didn't prey on his mind from time to time) he didn't want to worry that his father was bullying him, too.

He knew why though; his brother reminded Denethor of their late mother. She had been beautiful, he thought, smiling at the memories he had of her, young, singing lullabies to Faramir, interested in stories and ancient history and the Elves, such a light presence compared to their father. She would have hated all this war and battle and Sauron's power rising again, but she would have loved that Boromir was part of the Fellowship and would have loved to meet an Elf or a dwarf. She had loved and trusted Gandalf, just like Faramir.

But it was too easy to say Boromir was like Denethor and Faramir was like Finduilas, he thought. They were both their parents' children; they had their flaws and flaws of their own, too. Faramir had Denethor's cleverness, something that they had both failed to notice and he must share something in common with his mother. He hoped he did. Something of her goodness. He did not want to be solely like Denethor, his strength, yes, his courage, but not his hardness, or…his single-mindedness.

And he would never treat his children like Denethor treated his.

I'm in a mine under a mountain, watching out for goblins, why am I thinking of children I don't have, he asked himself. And why are they blonde and brown eyed and covered in jam, he wondered. He realised he was staring at Jane, her messy hair flowing around her like a lion's mane. Concentrate on the job in hand, Boromir of Gondor, he chastised himself sternly. He spent the rest of the night thinking about battle plans and stretching and not thinking about running after little children with messy blonde hair.

* * *

The next day, when everyone woke up, they came to a fork in the road; there were three passageways leading up and Gandalf couldn't remember which one was the one they wanted.

Jane thought that she could have mentioned something; but she was tired and had some thinking to do. She sat down next to Pippin and Merry and pulled out some water. Taking a gulp, she tried to reassure herself that letting Gandalf fall down the mine with a very scary Balrog was not a betrayal. He dies, yes, she said to herself, but he comes back, more powerful and with nice new clothing. The real betrayal, she tried to convince herself, would be to let him stay the same and perhaps compromise the story.

Who am I to stop his spiritual and emotional growth, she joked with herself. Then, stop being so bloody facetious.

He's not real, she said. None of them are real. She looked over at Boromir, who was sitting on the other side of the tunnel, looking curiously at her, and felt her heart pang.

Okay, they feel real, but that's only because they're sweaty and dirty, but they're characters in a book and I'm having some sort of mental breakdown.

Why is he always looking at me, she thought.

"He's in love with you," said Merry.

"Didn't you know? We thought you did. Everyone knows," said Pippin.

"What?" said Jane, confused. She'd asked out loud, had she?

"Boromir's smitten," said Merry.

"We thought you were just pretending not to notice, to be polite," said Pippin. "Sausage?" He held out half a cold sausage. Jane stared at him.

"You really didn't know?" asked Merry. "Maybe we shouldn't have told you," he said, worried. "Don't think about it too much," he advised, "Then it won't be a problem."

"Merry, she hasn't blinked in a really long time," said Pippin, waving a hand in front of her eyes.

"Ah!" cried Gandalf, making them jump. "The air smells much fresher in this tunnel. When in doubt, Master Meriadoc, always follow your nose!" and with that he was off, climbing the stairs, with Frodo in close succession.

"Don't say nothing to him," said Jane, softly, as they got up. "That means you, Pippin."

"I am the very soul of discretion," said Pippin very seriously, while Merry looked at him agog. They all started to file towards the staircase.

"By the end of today, we'll be in fresh air," said Boromir, suddenly popping up at her side. She stumbled on a step and he caught her arm. "Careful!" he said. "We don't want you getting hurt," he said softly.

"No," said Jane, wishing she could say something more intelligent.

They had reached the top of the staircase, and were in a grand hall, with higher ceilings than Jane had ever seen.

Jane didn't know what to do regarding the Balrog situation, she only knew two thing; Boromir had not let go of her arm and she didn't really want him to.

"I've never understood," said Boromir, softly, "Why such a small people made such high ceilings for their dwellings," and he turned his head and smiled at her.

Gimli ran off to the left, wailing.

Oh dear, thought Jane sadly, looking at Boromir's green eyes. I have a bad feeling about this.

* * *

**Well, it's certainly taking me an awful long time to drag them out of Moria...seems that there will be a Chapter Nine and Nine Tenths as well...oh well! Anyway, thank you very much for your reviews, I will get back to you individually in a wee bit, but I appreciate the support and the constructive criticism as always! Tell me what you think about Boromir's thoughts! I'm breaking my heart as I write them.**


	12. Chapter 9 and Nine Tenths

**Plain Jane in Thirteen Chapters**

Chapter

Nine

And

Nine

Tenths

Properly

Edited

This

Time

They all followed Gimli as he ran off into the darkness into a small chamber on the left. The ground was scattered with dwarf and goblin skeletons and there was a small slit of a window. It was the most light they had seen in four days and they all blinked at it.

_It stunk_, Jane noted. All of Moria had a strange smell, part musty, part coal and ash, part dead body, part dust and part something that seemed magical, but perhaps not in a good way. This chamber, covered in dead bodies, much more densely than anywhere else, smelled so much worse. Jane gagged a bit.

Gimli knelt in front of a tomb, muttering in Dwarfish and Boromir stepped forward and put his hand on Gimli's shoulder in support. _That was nice of him_, Jane thought. Everyone stood around in sympathy, except Legolas who lingered by the door, looking even more agitated than usual and muttering to Aragorn.

Gandalf moved to pick up a book and Jane sat down on the ground, her head spinning. _What…the…hell?_ She shook her head. _What…the…hell?_

"Jane?" asked Merry. "Are you feeling well?"

"Mshguh," she spluttered.

"Is this about the thing we told you?" he whispered. She looked up at his concerned face.

"I no like fanfiction," she muttered. Merry looked at her worriedly.

"I don't know much about Big Folk," he began, hesitantly, "Or females, in general, but I don't think this is the normal reaction to finding out a man is in love with you."

Pippin, unnoticed, crept towards a shaft.

"Boromir is a good man," said Merry, softly, "He…has a nice beard and all his teeth. He's very kind. He'd make a good husband," he said.

Pippin touched a skeleton and it's skull fell down the mine shaft. Everyone turned, horrified towards him and waited with baited breath, as it banged down like a ball down the stairs, pulling the rest of the body, then a chain, then a bucket.

It banged down into the deep. Pippin's eyes were like saucers as he turned to face Gandalf for punishment and rebuke. The wizard's beard quivered as he snatched his staff back from Pippin.

Everything was silent again.

"Throw yourself in next time!" suggested Gandalf.

"Shh!" said Jane, hugging her knees. He turned to look at her. "They come," she said.

"I can't hear anything, lassie, I think we're safe," said Gimli, his beard wet with tears. Jane pulled herself up, feeling heavier than ever, with anticipation and dread, and adjusted her quiver.

"Jane-"started Boromir.

Then the drums began.

Boromir and Legolas ran to the door. An arrow twanged into the wood an inch away from Boromir and Jane's heart thumped. Boromir quickly assessed the situation.

"They have a cave troll," he sighed. The two men and Elf barricaded the door and Gimli jumped on top of the tomb, snarling in dwarvish, while Gandalf gave the hobbit's advice.

Boromir jogged back over to Jane. "Stay at the back, I'll protect you," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. He turned back and stood next to Aragorn and drew his sword and shield out.

Jane clambered over some rocks towards the hobbits and got her bow ready. She had never been in a battle before and she felt like her legs were full of lead.

Legolas was shooting arrows through the gaps on the doors, which something large was banging against.

_It would open in a second_, she thought, dully.

And then it did and all hell broke loose.

She shot an arrow through a goblin's throat and scrambled up, to higher ground where she would get better aim. The hobbits scattered and she shot a goblin raising its sword at Pippin, not noticing one was creeping up behind her. Boromir shouted at her and she turned.

Up close, Jane had never seen anything so ugly; it was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen. The goblin snarled at her, its green and black teeth glistening. She reached for an arrow and it charged towards her. She didn't have enough time, she realised, pulling a knife from her belt and throwing it at its face with force she didn't know she had. She climbed further up the wall and took an arrow from her quiver, shooting a goblin near Frodo.

"Frodo!" she shouted to the lost hobbit. "Up here!" She reached down as the hobbit ran over to her and pulled him up onto the landing with her. She drew back the bow string and aimed at a goblin creeping up on Gimli.

She felt she was being useless. Aragorn and Boromir were cutting through goblins as if they were cobwebs and Gimli was launching himself on goblins in a crazed revenge fever. The troll was slamming its club about while Legolas skipped round it.

She was running out of arrows, but luckily none of the goblins had managed to climb up to where she and Frodo were, so they were relatively safe.

"Hide," she hissed at Frodo, as the cave troll turned their way and trudged over to them. It was massive, she thought, but it looked stupid, with its squashed face and dumb expression. They hid behind a column, playing a dangerous game of hide and seek. Frodo peeked back, the cave troll had gone. He relaxed against the wall, but Jane felt the hair on her neck prickle and turned around; it was looking straight at them. It raised the club and Frodo and Jane threw themselves off the wall.

"ARAGORN!" shouted Frodo, as the cave troll stepped towards them, glee in its yellow eyes.

Jane landed badly on the ground, hitting her head and Frodo's fall was broken by a skeleton. She blinked back blood, watching helplessly as the cave troll picked up a spear and threw it at Frodo.

"NO!" screamed Gandalf and Aragorn.

Jane's hand grasped a rusty goblin knife and threw it at the troll. She had been aiming for its throat, but it hit the left eye and it screamed and stumbled backwards, and Legolas climbed up its back and aimed an arrow at its head and he killed it.

Aragorn and Gandalf were next to Frodo, muttering about miracles as Jane picked herself up. She knew Frodo was fine, so didn't bother fussing over him. She touched her forehead, which felt very sore and sticky and wiped it with her sleeve. She looked at her bow, her beautiful bow that Legolas himself had made for her and it had a crack in it.

_It wouldn't last much longer_, she thought, sadly, and it was her only weapon.

Boromir killed the last of the goblins and rushed over to her.

"Honestly, woman," he said, roughly, looking at her head wound. "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

Jane looked up at him. She had never been put off by his rough and tough persona; always cutting through it by not taking him too seriously. _This was not the time to be thinking about Boromir, even if he fancies the pants off me_, she thought. _Why are we staring into each other's eyes? His eyes are green. I never paid much attention to him before…_

The drums started beating again and broke her out of her reverie.

"To the bridge of Khazad-dum!" shouted Gandalf and swept out of the chamber.

_He's not seen a woman apart from me in months_, thought Jane, numbly. _That's what it is. Really, I should be insulted it took this long and not take it too personally. Just a silly crush._

Boromir grabbed Jane's arm and dragged her along out the door and into the great chamber.

They hurried towards a distant door with Gandalf in the lead...as goblins started scuttling down the pillars behind them, like cockroaches, on all fours. There were thousands of them, Jane thought, shuddering at the goblin army that was rushing toward them, circling them. Boromir thrust her behind him, a move which touched her heart. She delicately raised her bow and notched an arrow, remembering what was coming. A deafening roar filled the air, weird and thin and evil. A fiery light danced down the hallway... the pillars casting eerie shadows and the goblins froze. Jane had never been so scared in all her life, she could feel evil approaching. The goblins scuttled back up the columns and along the roof and through cracks into the darkness.

The Fellowship was alone again, but they were rooted to the spot, scared.

"Move!" hissed Jane, anxious to be out of the chamber. "We move now yes?" she looked up at Boromir, his face fixed on the dancing light ahead of them. "Please, Boromir?" she asked. He turned and looked down at her.

"What new devilry is this?" he asked Gandalf.

"I want go!" wailed Jane, annoyed with them, pulling at Boromir's sleeve.

Gandalf answered Boromir's question. "It's a balrog," he began.

"Yes, yes," said Jane, quickly. "Run, run, run," she said and pulled Boromir along behind her and the hobbits followed. Gandalf looked at the balrog for a second, contemplating it, as if he knew what it was going to come to.

Boromir and Jane ran across the chamber, Boromir yelling to the hobbits to get them to go fasters and they shot through a door and down some steps. There was a giant staircase, twisting round and leading down into the mine and to a long narrow walkway; the bridge. The staircase, which had no banisters, Jane noted, sadly, and was carved out of stone hundreds of feet high, had gaps in it, where, somehow, the stone had broken away. Jane pulled Boromir back before he toppled over the edge and then he reached down and picked up Pippin and Merry and jumped over the gap. It was only a few feet, so Jane jumped over, too, quickly followed by Legolas, who sailed over it with unparalled grace. Sam hopped over, using his frying pan to swing over.

Aragorn made to throw Gimli, but Gimli's pride got in the way and his short stumpy legs pushed off the steps and over the gap. Jane's heart was in her throat as he fell backwards but Legolas grabbed his beard. Gandalf sprang over, like a ballerina, surprising everyone.

And the balrog started throwing itself against the wall and cracks appeared everywhere.

"Come on," cried Legolas, holding out his hand. The stone beneath Aragorn and Frodo started cracking, so Aragorn picked the hobbit up and threw himself at Legolas, who grabbed him and steadied him.

Jane was already shepherding the other hobbits down the staircase, assuring them that Frodo was fine. She was starting to panic; the balrog really scared her and she had noticed that the goblins had not gone away entirely and had picked up their bows and arrows to attack the Fellowship. _It was all very well running as fast as they could down the stairs; but they couldn't dodge the arrows shooting past them at lightning speed_, she thought.

And she didn't have the co-ordination, unlike Legolas, to shoot them, run, and make sure she didn't fall off the staircase at the same time.

An arrow launched itself into her thigh and she stumbled and fell down the stairs, landing on top of the evil arrow and snapping it, her arms in front of her stopping her from toppling off into the bottomless cavern. Her knees and palms groaned and hissed at her; she had cut them.

Aragorn pulled her up and she started running down the stairs again, but now with a limp.

Agonizing pain shot up the sides of her leg; it shocked her how much it hurt. But they were almost there. _And it's only a flesh wound,_ she thought, having no idea what a flesh wound was. She struggled on, coming to the end of the stairs, swearing like a sailor in English, struggling to breathe.

She saw the bridge and gasped. The bridge that the hobbits were running across was about half a foot wide and the drop went on forever. She stopped, her leg throbbing and her head thumping.

"Oh no," she said, almost to herself. There was no way she could walk across it; she was far too dizzy.

Someone picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, running across the bridge himself as she looked down into the deep depths, possibly to the centre of the earth. She bobbed along on his back, arrows shooting past her and her eyes flicked around, noticing the hordes of goblins surrounding them, the giant black fiery balrog chasing the grey Gandalf and finally, the giant shiny shield on the person's back and the familiar fur cloak.

"Oh, it's Boromir," she said, deliriously. "Boromir, Boromir, Boromir," she whispered.

They had reached the other side of the bridge and so he put her down, with a worried glance. Her bow, which was dangling from her hand, forgotten, caught her eye. She raised it, pulled out an arrow from her quiver (idly wondering how they had managed to stay put while she was draped across Boromir's back like a rag doll). She shot an arrow across and took out a goblin archer._Ha-ha_, she thought, dryly, hoping it was the one that shot her.

Gandalf was half way over the bridge when he turned and faced his enemy. Legolas was pinging arrows like it was nobody's business, she noticed, angry at herself for feeling so heavy and slow as she fingered her second arrow.

She didn't want to think about how Gandalf was about to fall.

She shot another goblin. _It's not even about skill, _she thought_, there's so many of them now it would take skill to miss._

The balrog stepped onto the bridge, cautiously, testing its evil whip. Gandalf raised his staff, gathering his strength. "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" he shouted and with great effort, slammed it down onto the stone and it cracked. It was so simple, so brilliant, the bridge started to crumble and the balrog stumbled, falling into the darkness. Gandalf turned, relieved.

Jane felt her heart sink.

The tip of the whip laced itself around his ankle and pulled the old man off the edge of the broken bridge. Gandalf's face fell, looking heavy, old, defeated as he dropped his staff and clung onto the precipice.

"Fly, you fools!" he cried and let go.

And it felt like a dream. Jane remembered Frodo running out, the little man looking like a child, his big eyes wide and disbelieving and Boromir grabbed him round the chest and pulled him up the stairs. She looked around and it was only her and Aragorn who remained, staring listlessly at the place where Gandalf should have been.

"Jane!" shouted Boromir, holding out his hand as he wrestled Frodo up the stairs. She took it, and he led her up into the light, with Aragorn following behind. The steps went steeply up, on and on, and Jane's leg started to scream again, as the muscles stretched and contracted. She didn't say anything, just looked at Frodo's curly hair as Boromir carried him up the stairs. He wasn't moving now, just staying deathly still, probably feeling as if all hope had gone now. She knew differently, but she couldn't feel it at this point.

"Jane, you are bleeding," said Aragorn. She looked behind her, at the ranger. Light was filtering down the tunnel and she could see his face clearly, as if for the first time. His bright blue eyes, his noble features, his determined face, his wrinkles, all covered in quite a few layers of sweat and dirt, looking concerned. She looked down the tunnel and saw that she had left a small trail of blood that was running down her left thigh.

She could feel it oozing out of her leg. Boromir squeezed her hand and she realised that they were still holding hands. Actually, she realised, he was pulling her up the stairs.

"There isn't enough room for me to carry you," said Aragorn, worried. He was right, the tunnel was very narrow and very low, and both Boromir and Aragorn were stooping to fit into it.

"I'm fine," she lied.

The light was getting stronger now. They were nearly out.

_How long was it,_Jane wondered_, until they got to that wood where the Elven Witchy Lady lived? I bet they have beds in their tree houses. I'd like to go to bed. Maybe Boromir could come…shut up brain! Shut up, shut up! What was the place called? Lothian? Lothiriel? No_, she said to herself, feeling drowsy, _that's not it_.

_Whatever you do, Jane Thomas, don't faint_, she told herself.

She suddenly realised that the goblin arrow may have hit an artery. What if she bled to death before they were anywhere near the magical wood? Would fan fiction really let her die? She felt misery wrap itself around her like a shroud.

And the last few steps into the light were taken and it almost blinded her it was so beautiful and strong.

She collapsed on the ground and lay there. Frodo scrambled off to be on his own, shaking with grief and Sam clambered after him, while the other hobbits sat on rocks, oblivious to everything around them. Gimli leaned over his axe and Legolas stared off into the distance.

Boromir was kneeling at her side, gently pulling out the arrow and ripping off some of his shirt and making to wrap it tightly around Jane's thigh to stop the bleeding. Jane could hear crying; she thought it was Pippin. Maybe it was her.

"Legolas!" cried Aragorn, "Get them up!" Legolas looked back at his friend, his eyes glassy.

"Give them a moment…for pity's sake!" shouted Boromir, annoyed at his lack of sympathy.

Aragorn scowled at him. "By nightfall this mountain will be swarming with Orcs. We must reach the woods of Lothlorien-"

"Let me at least tend to Jane quickly," said Boromir, thunderous.

"Of course, Boromir," said Aragorn, softly. "Come, Legolas, Gimli, get them on their feet. Up Sam!" he said.

Boromir pulled out his hip flask from a hidden place on his person and poured it on Jane's leg wound. She gasped and opened her eyes. "I know, dear heart, but it will kill the poison," he said, gruffly. He wound his shirt around her thigh, admonishing himself for finding touching her erotic at a time like this. He pulled it tight and tied it in a knot.

She made to stand up. "No, little one," he said and wrapped his arms under her legs and pulled her up into his arms. She was so pale. He marched down the mountain, to catch up with the others, and jogged next to Aragorn, whose face was set in a strained expression. "Aragorn, are we far from your Elven friends?" he asked.

"We should reach the woods by nightfall," said Aragorn, tensely, feeling another critique from Boromir coming.

"Nightfall?" said Boromir, looking into the distance and seeing a watery marsh and then a wood. "I am worried about Jane," he said, helplessly.

"I know," said Aragorn, softening.

"I'm…fine," said Jane, annoyed they were talking like she wasn't there.

"I didn't defend her properly," said Boromir, vulnerably. "This is my fault."

"What?" asked Jane, confused. "Boromir, why you use words I not know?"

"No," said Aragorn, vehemently, "This is Sauron's fault. She is strong, we will reach the Elves soon and they will cure her better than any human healer," he said, comfortingly. "We can take turns carrying her," he offered. Boromir didn't like the idea of relinquishing Jane, but he knew he needed to keep his strength up so he didn't lag behind; they would get Jane to help sooner if he didn't carry her all the way.

"I can carry her, too," said Legolas, popping up from nowhere, as usual. Boromir nodded tensely at him, glad to get help. They were all very fond of Jane.

"Is Jane injured?" asked Sam, jogging up to the tall ones.

"She hit her head," said Frodo, "When the cave troll attacked us."

"She has an arrow wound in her thigh," said Boromir, tensely. "I think the arrow was dipped in poison."

"Poison?" asked Aragorn, shocked he hadn't noticed.

"Yes, the wound was a strange colour," clarified Boromir. "I cleaned it with alcohol," he said, almost defensively.

"You did well," said Aragorn, "I did not realise it was poisoned," he said, almost to himself. "I do not have any athelas on me," he said sadly.

"Jane has stopped talking," said Boromir, worried. He couldn't see her face, the way he was holding her.

"She's lost consciousness," noted Aragorn, troubled. "That should not have happened, this is not good." Boromir felt his heart being squeezed and he sent a quick prayer to the Valar that she would live. "We need to be faster," he said. "Legolas, take her," he said.

Boromir handed the limp girl over to Legolas, who took off at lightning speed.

It was only then that Boromir realised he was soaked in blood.

"If she dies," he remarked to Aragorn in a strained voice, "I will never forgive myself."


	13. Chapter 10

**PLAIN JANE IN THIRTEEN CHAPTERS: A SLIGHTLY EXISTENTIAL FANFIC**

**JANE 10**

_In _

_The _

_Wondrous _

_Realm_

_Of_

_Fan_

_Fiction_

_AKA_

_Caster_

_Sugar_

_Land_

* * *

**Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. **The voice stopped mumbling and turned in another direction.

**Maybe I shouldn't have. **It stopped again, gulped and turned back.

**But the thing is that I'd never really done anything exciting I'm just the medium through which people do exciting things….**

Jane groaned. Someone was talking in English in her ear. She hadn't heard it in months. But she was too tired to do anything.

**If she actually dies, then I'll be in trouble.**

_Dies_, thought Jane, _who is going to-_

She gasped and scrambled to sit up.

All around her was white. Everything was white, it was impossible to distinguish where the floor and ceiling began, or maybe she was not in a place with proper dimensions. _And it was snowing,_ she thought, idly, holding her hand out to catch some. But it wasn't snow, she realised, it wasn't cold and it was far too powdery.

She brought some to her lips and licked. It was caster sugar!

She'd been here before, but when? And then it all came back to her. Her nemesis; fan fiction.

"Fan fiction! What do you want?" she snapped.

**Ohhhhhhh! **It wailed. This confused and perturbed her; what was wrong with it? **This is so terrible and sad! No one understands my pain!**

What on earth was it going on about? She could hardly pay attention, she felt so dizzy though, so faint. Almost like she was in two places at the same time. If she closed her eyes, it almost felt like she was lying on a bed somewhere, somewhere warm that smelled of lavender and she felt safe.

"Am I out of Middle Earth then?" she asked, shocked.

**No no, I've just taken your subconscious out for a little chat…**

"What?" Jane shrieked. ""Where is my body?

**Oh, it's being prodded by those pointy eared creatures, most of them have never seen a human girl before, or anything that dirty for a while, like being clean those Elves, they're very excited-**

"What, are they…am I being healed?"

**Well hopefully.**

"Hopefully?" squeaked Jane.

**Oh shut, **snapped fan fiction**, I'm in far bigger trouble than you.**

"I'm dying!"

**I'M BEING AUDITED!** Fan fiction screamed.

Jane decided to lie back down on the caster sugar carpet.

"This truly is the worst and weirdest day of my life," she muttered.

**I have been informed, **said fan fiction, very tensely**, that if you die while under my protection, then not only will there be A LOT of paperwork, but I might have to pay a great deal of money.**

"My poor broken body is in a tree house somewhere, probably while a fictional character weeps into his shield and then tries to steal some jewellery off a midget," she said, dully, wondering how she came to this.

**The thing is, Jane, is that I don't have any money!**

"I'm probably in a lot of pain right now…wherever I am…and I don't care."

**Fan fiction is free!**

"Talking about yourself in the third person…it's the first sign of madness," said Jane, listlessly. "Says the girl covered in sugar worrying dying in a fictional world. Am I insane?"

**You try and do people a service, and make their miserable lives a bit better-**

"You stole me out of England and put me in a world where things eat other things!" shouted Jane.

**Oh don't you think you're overreacting!** Scolded fan fiction.

Jane sat up, enraged. "I'm overreacting? I'M OVERREACTING?"

**Calm down, Jane. You know you're always thinking of yourself. You humans are so selfish. You should take a leave out of my book. Have you ever noticed how I'm so self sacrificing, that I never complain, that I'm always thinking of others? You really owe me a lot; I've been very kind to you.**

She put her head between her knees. This was really too much to handle in a single day. The revelation that was Boromir, a balrog, being shot, killing things. Was this shock she was in, she wondered. She did feel rather shakey. Maybe she was dreaming; a dream within a dream, and Boromir was looking after her somewhere.

**You've got to promise me something**, said fan fiction.

"Shut up," said Jane.

**Oh Jane, think of someone else for once. In my kind attempt to make you a better, well rounded person- **

"You said you wanted to give yourself a sharper, edgier image," snapped Jane. "Don't pretend that dumping me in a river surrounded by murdering rapists was for my own benefit…character building. You awful awful person."

**I'm not a person.**

"You're a piece of crap, that's what you are."

**Well perhaps it was to punish you a little. I can't always be altruistic, can I?**

Jane picked up a handful of caster sugar and threw it in the air. Nothing happened.

**Anyway, after you cruel, vicious and unwarranted attack on me-**

"I said I was sorry, didn't I? One stupid comment and I'm sentenced to a year's imprisonment!"

**You will find, Jane Thomas, **said fan fiction**, that your habit of saying things you don't really mean may one day get you into a lot of trouble and cause more heartbreak than you know. I will admit that I may have been a little hasty in sending you off into Middle Earth. And now I'm being punished!**

Jane heard a weird rasping sound…was fan fiction crying?

"Are you…ok?" she asked tentatively.

**NO! **It snapped, weeping.

"I'm sorry," said Jane. She looked around for something to do to cheer fan fiction up. "I'm quite good at accounts and things," she said, "I used to do it at work, maybe I can help?"

**I can't bring you back until the twelve months is over, **said fan fiction, hoarsely.** But if you die, then I will be shut down. I will cease…to exist, **it said, dramatically**.**

Jane didn't know what to say. "Well, I wasn't really planning on dying either…"

**Yes**, it snapped**, but you constantly put yourself in danger! I purposely put you in the path of a great hairy warrior the size of a bear to look after you and what have you gone and done to him?**

"I haven't done anything to Boromir!" shouted Jane, outraged.

**He's gone soft and dippy**, moaned fan fiction. **He's supposed to be a hard man! His only interests smoking, beheading orcs and lusty wenches! **

"I don't think you know Boromir very well if that's what you think he's interested in. But I wanted to ask you about the, uh, changes that have…happened to him," said Jane, uneasily. "Um. He seems to have…developed feelings for me."

**Boromir romances are rare, **said fan fiction.** For a reason. **

What reason is that?" asked Jane.

**He dies. **

Jane felt like she'd been slapped in the face. "I can change that," she said.

**You can try, **said fan fiction, darkly.** But you're not enough to change the whole world. You can't adjust your own fate.**

"It's not really a world, it's just a story." Jane wasn't really sure if she believed that anymore, though.

**Then why do you care so much about it?**

Jane ignored that. "Is it real?" she asked. "I've been leaving in Middle Earth for months, I've learned their language, I've been covered in their dirt…it has to be, right?"

**You want to know whether his feelings for you mean anything.**

"Well," said Jane. "Maybe. I just want to know…what it means. Why does he like me, anyway," she said, almost to herself.

**What does the Lord Boromir see in you? **Fan fiction mused. **I've no idea, you have none of the characteristics that his race find appealing. Your parents, when they were alive, were dentists, not nobles, your hair is neither blonde nor brown, your eyes are mud coloured and your face is too expressive to be properly beautiful. You talk all the time and it' mostly nonsense, and you're always covered in mud. If it hadn't been you, it would probably have been Legolas; he's much prettier than you. It's probably your breasts. Legolas doesn't have breasts.**

"Well aren't you in a nasty little mood," snapped Jane. "Boromir isn't that superficial, he likes me for me, not my hair colour. Or my breasts! And he's not gay!"

Jane couldn't tell how, but fan fiction was smirking.

**Promise me you won't die, even for your soppy bear man**, said fan fiction.

"I'm not promising you anything, you…orc face!" she retorted.

**Well, Jane, I can't say I'll miss your wit, but I had better send you back,** said fan fiction.

And with that, Jane melted into sub consciousness, wishing that she had asked fan fiction who or what was _auditing_ it and how.

* * *

**_A little sojourn into Caster Sugar Land. Tell me what you think! We're nearing the end... Thank you all for your reviews and pointers, they've been a massive help! Lxx_**


	14. Chapter 11

**JANE THE ELEVENTH**

_In whic__h_

_our favourite misplaced mortal_

_meets the Lady of the Light and_

_Boromir continues being lovelorn_

_as is his wont_

**_"No more dreaming like a girl so in love, no more dreaming like a girl so in love with the wrong world," Blinding, Florence and the Machine_**

Galadriel observed the human child. It had been many centuries since she her eyes had been upon one of the edain, apart from Aragorn, of course, but he didn't quite count, being one of the Dunedain and the object of her only granddaughter's affection. And this one was a girl.

Elrond had spoken about her. He had said that she seemed to have some foreknowledge; that she way she behaved towards the Fellowship whilst in Imladris was as if she already knew them. Yet she possessed no special powers and was "quite ordinary".

Galadriel did not think she was ordinary in the slightest, however, but then Elrond was more familiar with the human race than she. This girl was not from Arda, she thought, but where was she from? Perhaps it did not matter. She was here now.

She was going to wake up soon, Galadriel saw; the girl they called Jane was stirring. She had been recovering for thirteen days now and since the Fellowship had arrived in her woods ten days ago the man from Gondor had not left her side. Until, of course, Galadriel had walked through the door of the talan and then he had fled, very reluctantly, to wait on the steps outside, where if Galadriel pricked her ears, he was pacing and muttering to himself.

Galadriel enjoyed terrifying the mortals.

Boromir did make her heart feel heavy; his sorrow and guilt was tangible, even to someone who didn't have her powers of insight and they weighed him down. She hoped that his love of the girl would lift him out of despair, but she was very worried that it wouldn't, that actually it would make him worse. Unrequited love was very dangerous, as she knew.

Jane's feelings were much more complicated and tangled; she could barely understand them. And it did not help that her thoughts were in a language Galadriel had never heard before, although she could tell that it had a common root with the language the Rohirrim now spoke. Galadriel felt certain that Jane would be the one to save Boromir from temptation…or conversely tip him right over the edge.

Galadriel had been in her hanging garden, enjoying some wine with her handmaidens, when she had felt a deep level of shock and bafflement in the healer tending to the mortal girl. Rising wordlessly, her handmaidens watched as she glided out the hanging garden and to the west side of the city where the healing talans were. They weren't terribly concerned though; their lady had a tendency to wander about looking dazed and speaking with her mind. They were used to her eccentricities and so carried on drinking wine and gossiping.

When she arrived at Jane's talan, she found Valandil swearing in Sindarin and a slightly hysterical mortal man pacing, who took one look at her and ran out the door.

"My Lady," said Valandil. "I…am lost for words," he said. Galadriel smiled at him.

"Proof, my dear healer, that miracles do happen," she replied. Valandil had a reputation for talking too much, and mostly about himself.

"I don't know where she is!" he said, dazed, looking down at the pale human in the bed in front of him. "This has never happened before."

"Indeed," said the Lady of the Light.

"I have been a healer for over three thousand years," he continued. "And never has part of a patient's soul…disappeared…before."

"It is most unusual," she agreed.

"I do not know what to do; I do not know if this is some kind of sorcery or if this is normal for mortals wherever this strange one is from. She should have woken up days ago, but she has been slowly becoming more drained and now this. It could be a reaction to the pain, or the poison, or perhaps some of the medicine-" he turned to Galadriel. "I did not poison her! I know you know I do not care for humans, because they are dirty and carry diseases, but I swear-"

"Peace, Valandil son of Carandil," she said. "You may leave now," she took a seat next to Jane.

Valandil hesitated. "Will she recover?" he asked.

"Have you become fond of her?" asked Galadriel, a twinkling in her eye. "For you know, you may not keep her as a pet."

Valandil almost scowled but remembered himself just in time. "No, I do not want her dying on me. I have not had a fatality for three hundred years. I would not have a mortal blacken my reputation."

"If I recall correctly, the last patient you had that died was a cat that wandered into the forest which died of old age," said the Lady of the Light, lightly.

Valandil chose to ignore this. "What am I to tell the male one? He is very insistent. Pushy, even," he complained, not relishing the thought of Boromir harassing him for information.

Galadriel thought for a second. "Tell him all will be well," she said. And Valandil bowed and left the talan, leaving his leader alone with the strange mortal.

"Valandil has more bark than bite," she told Jane's unconscious state. "He is a very sympathetic elf and is greatly upset when his patients are in pain, whether they are immortal, mortal or feline. He feels as if he has failed them. He means no harm," she continued.

And then Galadriel waited until Jane returned to her body.

Jane was sleeping on a comfy bed. It was great, she was happy. It was that great feeling of being on cool, fresh sheets and being exactly between warm and snugly. This was great, she thought, heaven, actually, after that stupid lumpy bedroll. You get used to it, I suppose. Nothing could be worse than sleeping up that bloody mountain.

Why was I up a mountain, she wondered. Doesn't sound like something I'd do. Oh yeah, it was because of the quest to destroy the ring. Thank god that's all over and now I can concentrate on bed.

Something niggled in her brain. I've forgotten something. My taxes? Something to do with a boyfriend?

It hit her like a train.

And her eyes flew open and she sat up.

She was in a wooden room, beautifully simple and clean, sparse but it reminded her of a spa or a hospital. There was a floral scent in the air.

There was a female elf sitting next to her, observing her calmly. She had wavy blonde hair, an ethereal look and was glowing.

"Jane," it said, melodiously, in Westron. "Welcome of Lothlorien."

No one said anything for a while.

"Thank you," rasped Jane.

"Ah, of course, you would like some water," said the elf, and it stood up, walked over to the little table and poured a glass of water from an impressive silver jug. She handed it to Jane, who took a gulp of water, gratefully. "I have many questions, Jane," the elf informed her. Jane looked at her. She put the empty glass down on the bedside table, her head upon her pillow and pulled the cover over her head.

For the first time in millennia, Galadriel was flummoxed.

"I know you are there, Jane," she said.

"No," said the mortal.

"We have many things to talk about," she continued, uncertainly.

"No," repeated the mortal. Galadriel thought about taking a different approach.

"Perhaps you would like to see your friend Boromir," she asked.

"No!"

How many millennia have I walked this earth, thought Galadriel, how many confidences have I elicited, how many minds have I looked into, how many have looked upon me and felt fear and respect? And now, there is a mortal, barely two decades old, and she is hiding in her bed from me.

These are strange times we live in, she thought. And this girl has no fear of Elves or authority.

"I will wait," said Galadriel.

And she did. Jane drifted back off to sleep for an hour or so then her stomach woke her up. She sat up. "Everyone is not bad?" she asked.

"I will answer your questions if you answer mine," said the Elf, serenely. Jane sighed. Elves were difficult, she thought.

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms grumpily.

"Where are you from?" she asked. Jane didn't know how to answer that one.

"A city called London," she answered. "Everyone is not bad?"

"Everyone is unharmed," confirmed Galadriel. "How large is this city? In what land is it?"

Jane frowned. "I am not good with your numbers. Big. Very big. More than Middle Earth people in it. Can I have eat?"

Galadriel was looking disturbed. "Bigger than Middle Earth?" she asked.

"I'm hungry!" said Jane. "Please shiny Elf lady," she pouted. Galadriel bent her head.

"It is on its way. How came you by your knowledge of Middle Earth?" she asked. Jane frowned. Then shrugged. "Jane, I would know," she said.

"There's a book I read," said Jane. "But I can't say nothing." She looked firmly into the Elf's eyes. "Not good idea."

The Elf looked back at her, and the talan door opened and a handmaiden came in with a tray. Jane's eyes gleamed, there was fruit and vegetables and some sort of dish that steam was rising from. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

"Give!" she cried. Then, "Please elfies," she said contritely. Galadriel raised her eyebrow. The handmaiden laid the tray down and Jane tried very slowly to pick up the cutlery and eat like a lady. But weeks of living off dried and salty meat and Aragorn's stews of death had created a hunger than knew no boundaries and no manners. Some of the food fell on her nightgown. "Whoops!" she said, feeling too weak to properly care. "Well," she said, suddenly exhausted after her heavy meal. "Sleepy time now," and she turned over and promptly fell asleep.

Lady Galadriel had never met anyone so strange.

Meanwhile, Boromir was sitting outside the healing talan, almost unaware of the hundred metre drop on either side of him, the wide trees whispering and the silvery veil over everything. He was thinking about the time he gave his little brother the talk.

"What about love?" asked Faramir, his big grey eyes wide and innocent. Boromir, eighteen and amused, had thought Faramir spent too much time reading poetry.

"The important thing is to not get the woman pregnant," he repeated.

"Yes, yes," said Faramir, "But have you ever been in love, Boromir?"

Boromir had stared at his brother, uncomfortable. "On this subject, little one, I am as ignorant as you."

"But how will I know?" persisted Faramir. Boromir thought of his mother, who wasted away for love of the sea, and his father, who hardened because of the love for his dead wife.

"Because it will hurt," said Boromir.

"Oh," said Faramir, in a small voice. Boromir's heart strings almost broke. He couldn't let Faramir become as cagey as he was, as frightened as he was.

"But…but…it will change you," he continued, uncertainly, "and it will make things clear. I think it must be like the love of your country; you are proud of the one you love and you will protect her at any cost. And that must be a good thing, don't you think, little one?"

Faramir's smile was luminous. "Oh yes, Boromir!" he said, and leapt on top of Boromir to give him a big hug and then ran away.

Boromir had sat thinking for a while, ruminating on his affair with the widow of one of his father's councillors. It seemed tainted now – he knew he didn't love her and never would. He wasn't sure he liked her much, but she was pretty. He wanted what he had just described, someone he was proud of and wanted to protect; someone he loved as much as Faramir, or Gondor. I am not immune to this romantic fey rubbish that occupies Faramir's head, he grumbled, resolving to break it off with her and look for a real match.

That was 22 years ago, he thought. Perhaps Jane wasn't born yet. It made him melancholy and happy at the same time.

He turned, and faced Galadriel's robes. He stood up, awkwardly.

"You may go in now, Boromir of Gondor. She expects you," she said, evenly and mysteriously. He nodded. "Good luck," she whispered and winked at him.

Elves, he thought, are strange. But not as strange as the woman I'm in love with.

**I'm back! Please review, lovely people of the fanfiction world. I've missed you. You look nice today.**


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